Ghost Town
by carnageincminor
Summary: COMPLETE. Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. Batman/OFC.
1. Chapter 1

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies.

**GHOST TOWN**

_The angels they don't come around, and the gods they run like devils  
__Chasing secrets no one talks about down avenues of glitter lights and pain  
__I'm looking for a place to leave my troubled thoughts behind  
__But trouble's growing all around and it's all I seem to find  
__In this land of make-believe, toxic February breeze  
__Cemetery boulevards and neon signs that say you've come too far  
_"Ghost Town" by Strung Out

Chapter 1

Gotham's skyline sweeps past the glass, a looming array of building after indistinguishable building, punctuated by the occasional tower spires, as the metro enters the commercial district. Wayne Enterprises is the largest of these towers but it is yet unseen, lying directly ahead at the end of the track: the hub of the city. Dropping her gaze back to the papers in her lap, Alex absentmindedly bites a lip as the confidence she had maintained over the last couple of days starts to dissipate and she is sorely tempted to simply turn back. She doesn't stand a chance, she is sure. Totally out of her depth.

Then a rumbling sound makes itself heard from her stomach and she grimly recalls why she is here. She skipped breakfast that morning. Two weeks of searching high and low for a job and an ever-dwindling bank account has made her willing to give this a shot. Even if it is something as ridiculously impossible as secretary to Bruce Wayne. Alex skims again over the notes and news clippings she has compiled in research. Bruce Wayne: head of Wayne Enterprises and countless subsidiaries, billionaire playboy with a penchant for extravagant displays of wealth and scandal, and remarkably vapid for a man running an empire. She despises him already.

The scenery turns dark outside the window and the intercom announces their arrival at Wayne Tower. Hastily packing her bag, Alex disembarks and grimaces upon catching sight of the time. She has five minutes. She rushes out of the station and into an elevator to the twenty-second floor where she bursts into the foyer just as the door to an office opens and an older woman escorts an impeccably dressed, stunning brunette on her way out.

"Thank you for coming, Ms Bennett. We will contact you shortly if your application is successful."

The two exchange farewell pleasantries and then the older woman sets her sharp eyes on Alex.

"Ah, you must be Alexandra Reilly, I presume?"

Alex puts on her game face and a bright (if not sincere) smile graces her visage, though she has a sneaking suspicion her neatly pinned bun has become completely dishevelled by now. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Van Patten."

They shake hands and Evelyn Van Patten, HR Manager of Wayne Enterprises, leads Alex into her office where Alex has to control herself from staring out the panorama glass walls at the breathtaking view of the city and harbour further beyond.

"So, Ms Reilly, I understand you're new to town?" Van Patten queries, seating herself down behind the polished mahogany desk.

"Yes, I moved from Boston a couple of weeks ago."

"And you were a school teacher there, weren't you?" Van Patten glances down at the resume on her desk. "You have a degree in childhood education."

_Oh here we go._ This is the part where she can see all the checkboxes being left empty. Solid work experience? Nope. Relevant study? Nope. Designer labels? Nope. "That's right," Alex nods. "I worked for six years at St Patrick's Catholic School, including two years of teaching a remedial fourth grade class."

"You might find that businessmen sometimes aren't much different from fourth graders," Van Patten's eyes twinkle at her and the two share a moment of polite laughter. Alex still isn't convinced the woman before her is entirely human.

They continue to discuss matters that seem to drag on for hours, such as the time Alex worked as a part-time secretary when she was seventeen and how she enjoyed it (not at all; her boss was an utter sleazebag), and her deep interest in Wayne Enterprises (only to the extent to which it could pay her rent and food). The interview is over in fifteen minutes according to the clock on the wall, but Alex is certain Mrs HR Demon's office contains some time warping properties because she feels exhausted.

"Just before I let you go," Van Patten gestures for Alex to remain seated, "I would like to bring Mr Wayne down to meet you personally. This is a customary procedure for those applicants who have high potential. Please excuse me; I'll only be a minute." She casts Alex one last smile before she exits the room and Alex can only stare after her and the closing door in wide-eyed astonishment. _High potential?_ The woman is clearly mad.

Alex doesn't have much time to ponder the mysteries of Evelyn Van Patten's mind when Van Patten soon returns with Bruce Wayne in tow.

"Mr Wayne, this is Alexandra Reilly, one of our prime candidates."

In person, Alex realises he cuts a much more imposing figure than that captured in grainy photographs as he strides across the carpet to her and takes her hand.

"Alexandra. Wonderful to meet you." His smile is lazy yet disarming; a smile that probably melted most people but also spoke of _idle rich_ to her.

"I'm honoured, Mr Wayne." She is also nervous. She can't shake off the odd feeling that his eyes, although friendly and warm, seem guarded or otherwise holding back.

"Evelyn tells me you're fresh out of Boston. How are you finding Gotham City?"

"Well..." Alex flits her eyes toward the full-length windows for an inspiring response, "It's a nice change. I'm still settling in so far, but the people I've met have been very helpful and kind." It's partially true. With her apartment being so close to the Narrows, it's only a nice change in the way it meant being away from the situation at home.

Wayne smirks a little, a hint of something sardonic, and she wonders if he caught what she was really thinking. "That's good to hear. I hope you don't ever have to find out about our crime rate -- I wouldn't want it to drive you away."

Ah. Of course, she should have known better than to sugar-coat the fact that there's no such thing as helpful or kind people in Gotham. Wayne included. "I wouldn't be driven by mere statistics, Mr Wayne, it would have to be personal experience."

He smiles again but this time she doesn't quite return it. "Listen, you'll have to excuse me." He dips his head in a gesture that's almost apologetic, but she can't really tell, and passes a nod to Van Patten to wrap things up. "I have a lunch meeting at the Four Seasons in twenty minutes. It's been a delight speaking with you, Alexandra."

"Likewise, Mr Wayne."

He leaves and Van Patten steps in to bring things to a close, giving her the usual 'best of luck' and 'we'll contact you' spiel before ushering Alex to the elevator doors. There is another girl out in the waiting room.

The moment she's clear of the stifling building, Alex heads for a hotdog stand and finds herself a bench in Wayne Gardens to rest. The lunch is far from gourmet but it's delicious on an empty stomach, and cheap. From her corner in the park, she watches the throng of suits weave about the block on their no doubt busy and important schedules, armed with their briefcases and Blackberrys. She doesn't imagine she'll be joining them any time soon after that encounter with Bruce Wayne and the thought is almost a relief. Almost. Alex digs out another newspaper clipping from her bag: this one of a vacancy at Gotham General for a receptionist in the paediatrics ward, and with a sigh, she dials the number listed.

A/N: Thanks for reading so far. Please review and give me any suggestions, I'd love to hear what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 2

It's three o'clock by the time Bruce Wayne returns to the office for a board meeting and he runs into Evelyn again in the hallway. He contemplates ducking into the nearest doorway but she's already locked her sights on him and wasn't far enough, so he continues walking to the conference room.

"Mr Wayne! I need your feedback on the last applicant for the new secretary role." She hurries after him and tries to keep up with his pace, a clipboard clutched to her chest.

He shrugs noncommittally, hands in pockets. Evelyn insists on getting his input because she says it's _his_ potential secretary, but he has no particular interest in the matter. Anyone would do; playing secretary to Bruce Wayne was not going to involve lot of work. All he really needs one for is to field his calls and tell everyone he isn't available. "She was fine."

He hears Van Patten huff behind him. He's aware he has said that for the sixth time now and the corners of his mouth pull up a little.

"How many more do you have to interview?"

She checks her schedule and runs a finger down the page. "Should be about eight... no, nine left; one looks promis --"

"Forget 'em." He waved a hand. "Just call in the one we had today."

The sound of footsteps comes to an abrupt halt and he peers over his shoulder. Evelyn's eyes are as round as owls' over the rim of her glasses and she watches him with a funny kind of optimism. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure." He's sick of the whole selection process.

"Oh, excellent!" Evelyn is excited for some reason or other he doesn't quite know. _Perhaps she was getting sick of it too?_ "I did think you might like her. Alexandra -- that was her name," she starts rambling to herself as she peruses her notes. "Certainly competent enough for the task. Not exactly your type, I'm aware, but she's pleasant and well-mannered."

Not his type? Bruce gives her a quizzical look when she says it, but she's not paying any attention to him. What would Evelyn know about his 'type'?

"Then again, your friend Rachel's a lovely and down-to-earth girl, so I took a gamble that you'd find Alexandra's personality comparable --"

"Evelyn, tell me you didn't actually consider _attractiveness_ a required attribute?" Bruce laughs.

The silver-haired woman finally looks up at him in all seriousness as though he were daft. "Well, of course I did! We have a public image to maintain at this firm and I will not have your affairs being managed by some bucktoothed ogre of a woman. Even if she is the most efficient person on the east coast."

"Never mind." Bruce reaches the heavy oak doors of the board room and turns to face Evelyn before entering. "Tell the girl she can start tomorrow. I trust you to set up a workspace for her outside my office. And don't touch the bookcase; I like it out there."

He pushes open the doors to a fully-seated table of directors who had been there since two-thirty, naturally; he gave himself an expected half-hour of fashionable lateness before turning up. Standing by the projector screen, Fox nods to him as Bruce takes the remaining seat, and continues his analysis on the company's takeover bid for Stark Industries.

The meeting finishes quickly enough. Bruce stays behind in his comfortable armchair as the others file out, needing to be someplace else, while Fox watches him with bemused eyes.

"Mr Wayne, any queries on the business we've discussed this past hour?"

"Not... precisely. But I'm aware Stark Industries has some unique technological developments recently. That might prove to be a big asset."

"I'll keep an eye on it," Fox nods. "How is that suit of yours holding up?"

Bruce looks down at his charcoal grey three-piece. "Valentino? A little '90s but at least it's a dependable brand."

"And the functionality?" Fox chuckles.

"Could do with some better movement around the neck. Sure would make backing out of the driveway easier."

"Having eyes in the back of your head wouldn't make reversing a Murcielago any easier, Mr Wayne, but I'll see what I can do."

--+--

The rattle of pounding rain against her window was making sleep impossible and with a bleary eye she spots her alarm clock in the dark, reading 1:22 am. But Alex knows it isn't just the rain that's keeping her up, if she's honest with herself. She got a call back from Van Patten at Wayne Enterprises in the afternoon telling her she was hired. By some sheer, blind, ridiculous fluke of luck, she had been hired. Alex was silent for a good ten seconds in shock before finding her tongue and being able to thank Van Patten profusely.

The excitement of having a job again has worn off but she's just still... awake. Tired, but awake, with six hours of sleep left (if she's lucky). Stifling a groan, she rolls over and tries to fall asleep on her other side when the sound of a gunshot jolts her into sudden alertness. It's followed by a couple more and then a hoarse cry; the sounds are unmistakable in spite of the rain. And she was no stranger to the sound of gunfire.

Alex scrambles up from under the covers and darts to the window, cautiously peeling back the edge of the curtain. It is pitch black outside where her apartment overlooks the backstreets, but amidst the downpour, she thinks she sees something. Its shape appears amorphous when it disrupts the fall of water, but only for a fleeting second before it disappears into the night.

She keeps watch, hoping to see more unfold, but nothing does. Not long later, the wail of sirens and faint flickers of red and blue light on the road gradually approach. A squadron of police cars arrive on the scene, parking at odd angles along the alleyway (a deliberate formation or simply the result of being in a hurry?) and cops scurrying out of them and cordoning off the area -- it's all a mess of grey and black in the dim light of headlamps and she can't make out much. The police bring out several men from the building opposite, all bound and gagged, and then a series of heavy bags.

Alex takes a step back from the window. She's somewhat puzzled; the police looked like they were raiding an apartment for contraband but they only came in _after_ the smugglers had been taken care of. What was that thing she saw which got away? One of the other criminals? An undercover agent?

As the events outside come to a close, she climbs back into bed when she feels the chill starting to get to her, clad only in a thin t-shirt and pyjama pants. But she isn't getting any sleep tonight.

A/N: I'm a slow writer, I know. Things will start to pick up in the next chapter. Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies.  
Warning: Coarse language ahead.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 3

_Mysterious 'Batman' Thwarts Illegal Arms Trafficking Syndicate._ The headline spreads across the Gotham Times' front page, together with a photo of the apartment block next to hers and an inset showing the stash of weapons captured. Like everyone else on the metro, Alex is reading the article but she's doing so more intently, taking in every detail. This isn't the first time she's heard of the elusive Batman but she never gave it much thought until now.

It's not eight-thirty yet when she gets to work but Van Patten is already there to guide her through the preliminaries. After being handed an office manual, introduced to the other admin staff and given a general overview, Alex is then taken to her desk where Van Patten proceeds to mystify her on the 'crucial components' of her job.

"I hope that isn't the only suit you own," Van Patten casts a critical eye over Alex's black pinstripe attire -- the same thing she wore yesterday to the interview, with the only difference being her white blouse swapped for a green one.

Incidentally, it _is_ all she has in her wardrobe, but Alex keeps that to herself.

"Presentation is highly regarded in this firm." Van Patten explains. "In no way am I calling you plain, my dear, but I do expect you to take some _pride_ in your appearance." At Alex's blank and possibly mortified expression, she clarified, "What I mean is that you will need to put on more make up than just mascara and a bit of lip gloss. That will not do."

To Alex's shock, Van Patten whisks out her cosmetics kit -- or armoury, to be more accurate -- and _dear god_, actually brings a brush to her face, despite Alex's protests. She has no choice but to hold still with the other woman grasping her chin steady, but it's humiliating to be subject to this 'makeover' in front of colleagues giving her amused looks while passing by.

When she's done, evidently pleased with her handiwork, Van Patten holds up a mirror and Alex stares at her distorted reflection. She never wears this much gunk, not even for parties, let alone work.

"I look ridiculous." She says to herself as part of her immediate reaction.

"You look professional," Van Patten purrs reassuringly. She then goes on to instruct Alex in the finer points of looking professional and as a gesture of goodwill, sets her up a session with Van Patten's own stylist.

By nine, Alex feels thoroughly disillusioned.

She spends an hour settling in and doing odd errands for other staff because Wayne did not check in until ten, and in the meantime, she takes the opportunity to research a bit more on the Batman vigilante on her computer. There's scant information available, most sources claiming that he is a man dressed as a bat with unusual abilities. Some still doubt he is human. There is also no shortage of disparagers who call him a criminal no better than those he hunts.

The distant sound of people gushing "good morning, Mr Wayne" grows ever closer and Alex looks up just in time to see her boss walk in. He smiles at her in greeting and she utters forth an automatic "good morning, Mr Wayne", rising from her chair and circling around to the front of the desk to meet him.

"Morning, Alexandra." His steel blue eyes seem to wander over her face for a moment, then his grin widens. "Evelyn made you her canvas, didn't she."

"Uh --" Alex gulps uneasily. _He's certainly perceptive_, she'd give him that. "I'm afraid so."

"I'll speak to her about it. Don't worry about the face paint."

She nods an awkward thanks. "Mr Wayne, these messages came through this morning." She passes him some slips of paper which he flips through quickly. "One of them is from Rachel; she says it's urgent." She watches his countenance turn serious and speculates on whether it's a rare sight, as he swiftly enters his office and lets the door swing shut behind him. Alex can still see him through the oval window on the door and he is already on the phone, his posture is tense, and she realises he suddenly looks nothing like the carefree, irresponsible heir-to-the-throne everybody speaks of. She notes for future reference that whenever Rachel calls, it must be really urgent.

Wayne bursts out of his office as quickly as he walked in, not even stopping in midstride to tell Alex to cancel his appointments, and leaves the building in a hurry.

--+--

The warehouse by the Docks is empty for now, but he doesn't mind being early. It's just past nine and the last of shipyard workers has retired for the night while the graveyard shift hasn't yet started. The place is deserted and silent.

Batman has had almost a full day on the job, with his first appearance in broad daylight. That had certainly surprised Gordon, and it made Bruce himself a little uneasy being vulnerable to paparazzi, but Rachel hadn't exaggerated at all when she said the situation was serious. Dr Crane, as deranged as ever, had set loose Arkham's inmates and armed them with his fear toxin. The riot squad deployed to control them were largely incapacitated, and because the inmates themselves weren't immune, they too got a little crazier and more aggressive than usual. Bruce had been a little surprised to find Crane remarkably coherent to have orchestrated the scheme after the last time he gave the good doctor a taste of his own medicine. In any case, order was restored with zero casualties and Batman fled before any journalist could get to him.

He spoke with Rachel afterwards who informed him that Falcone's mob, being depleted of some of its top personnel, has been receiving some curious reinforcements. A handful of mafiosi have shown up; fresh faces. They went by the name Yakavetta. They were traced to hailing from Boston.

"Mob families don't just migrate," Rachel pointed out. "There's something odd going on."

So he's here. Recent activity has been reported by the Docks a few days ago, coinciding with the arrival of the new kids in town. He easily finds the warehouse they have been using because they are sloppy with their tracks, and this particular warehouse is in an isolated corner of the yard. He waits in the shadows for the show to begin.

The sound of scuffling feet draws rapidly near: more than one pair, and the gait is irregular. Low voices speak harshly and Bruce comes to realise there's a struggle.

The warehouse doors bang open and four burly men enter, two of whom are dragging another figure between them. A black cloth hood has been pulled over the captive's head -- Bruce now recognises the person as female from her muffled screams -- and her wrists are tied behind her back. She is shoved down onto a metal chair in the middle of the room, her ankles taped to the steel legs, and one of the men approaches her with a menacing grin she doesn't see.

"Scream all you like, princess, ain't nobody gonna hear ya," he laughs.

Her response to him is an approximate "fuck you". The man stands directly in front of her and grasps the top of the hood, ripping it off and slapping her as soon as her face is cleared. Her head whips to the side from the force and a halo of messy blonde hair falls to cover her downcast eyes.

Even though Bruce is accustomed to masking his expression, he finds it hard to keep his features impassive when it dawns on him that this bound and gagged woman is his new secretary.

The lead mobster waves a hand curtly at one of his goons standing by the side of the chair who slices a knife through the cloth she's forced to bite on. "You thought you could run from us, huh? You think you can just get out of payin' your debt?" He spits out the word as if it smears his dignity. "Well let me tell ya somethin', you little bitch: we'll always hunt ya down. You're payin' up whether you like it or not."

The glare she returns is full of venom. "You're not getting a cent from me. You really think your bullshit's fooling anyone? My family's debt ended _sixteen years ago_ so get off my fucking back."

Lead mobster's sinister grin gets even nastier, if that's possible. "Oh, if you think we're on your back now, you ain't seen nothin' yet. We don't always have to take our payment in cash."

He leans forward to grab at her top, tugging it upward, and Batman has seen enough to move. He cuts the lights.

A unison of shouts is heard in the ensuing confusion -- first from shock, then from blows. Batman has leapt off the edge of the second storey railing in the warehouse and takes out two of the mobsters in breaking his fall. His movements cut with precision in the dark while his targets flounder, and both remaining men are on the ground in seconds.

He picks up Alexandra, freeing her from the chair. She fights him at first in her state of blind panic, then when she realises her fists land weakly on his kevlar bi-weave suit, she hesitates.

"Who are you?" She whispers.

"A friend." Bruce wastes no time carrying her outside, and he doesn't bother calling the GCPD. There is no incriminating evidence; he will have to pay the Yakavettas another visit later. "Are you injured?"

"No. I'm OK." She's shivering against him, probably cold, but he can't discern these things through the suit and gloves. Her loose-fitting clothes fluttering in the wind and the flip-flop slippers on her feet don't look as though they offer much warmth.

He can feel her wide eyes staring at him once they're under moonlight and he tries to ignore it. She couldn't possibly identify him; nonetheless, he can't help feeling self-conscious.

"Where do you live?" He rasps.

She doesn't answer him immediately because by now she's seen the Tumbler and her jaw drops. "Um... West 81st Street. Number 22."

Bruce nods. It's a modest district, a step up from the slums and comparatively cleaner, but far from safe. He was there the night before.

"You were there last night, weren't you?" She asks.

He glances sideways at her from the driver's seat and momentarily wonders if he should be worried that she might turn out to be telepathic. "Hope I didn't wake you."

"No, no... I wasn't sleeping."

He's put the Tumbler on stealth mode and takes the route less travelled to avoid traffic. "Did they break into your home?"

Alexandra nods. "What am I going to do now that --"

"You'll be safe for tonight." He finishes her thought. "They're in no condition to come after you right now. Tomorrow, you will need to change your locks and install an alarm. Put up metal bars outside your windows if you haven't got them already --"

"But wait, you don't understand," she cuts him off anxiously, "they _broke down_ my door. It's swinging half off its hinges at the moment. They grabbed me out in less than a minute. Locks and alarms aren't going to keep them out." She's watching him pleadingly, hoping he's got all the answers, but he hasn't. As silence drags on, she eventually turns away to face the window; resigned.

"I'll take care of it." He says in the end, but can't tell if she heard him.

The Tumbler has pulled up into the alleyway outside her apartment: the same alleyway he escaped through a night ago. Alexandra makes no move to leave the vehicle; she was probably still too shell-shocked to face her home.

"I need to ask you what you know about the Yakavettas."

The girl sighs; reluctant. "I don't really..." She bites her lip and appears to reconsider the point. She was the best and only person to speak to who knew anything about them, after all. "They're from Boston. Like me. They're one of the biggest mafia families there."

"And how do you know them?"

"Bad company," she laughs bitterly. "Let's just say my father once borrowed money from the Yakavettas because he thought they were friends. We paid back the debt, several times over. But it's never enough, you know? Once you mix with the mob, you owe them for life, it seems."

"So you left Boston? What about your family?"

She doesn't reply, and Bruce fears the worst. "They're not around anymore." She says quietly. "Dad was shot by Pappa Joe -- he was head of the family -- because we stopped paying. I was fifteen when I saw it happen right in front of me." Her voice catches in her throat and she pauses. "And then they threatened my mom, so... what choice did she have? She kept paying. A grand a month. She died of a heart attack half a year ago."

"I'm sorry." He murmurs. It's not enough to help, just as the words weren't enough for him when he was eight years old those many winters ago.

"It's not your fault." She quips back lightly. She still has her face to the window but the glimmer of tear tracks down her cheek does not go unnoticed. "Pappa Joe was executed last month."

Bruce makes a mental note of that. "If he was convicted, how did that affect the rest of..."

Alexandra turns to him and she has a curious smile on her lips, in spite of the tears. "He wasn't executed by the state. He was killed by the Saints -- a pair of vigilante brothers."

In a stroke of clarity, Bruce recognises the sharp light in her pale green eyes as not simply welled up tears, but retribution for her father's murder, well overdue. He's been there before, but unlike her, his need for reprisal was never satiated.

"Who runs the family now?"

"Antonio, the oldest son. The guy you saw earlier was Robert, his cousin." She seems to grimace at the memory. "He's been after my blood for a while."

The comm device in the Tumbler beeps. Alfred must be paging him.

"I have to go," Bruce activates a switch for the roof of the Tumbler to open. "Be careful." He means it, as well. He wants to be able to see her tomorrow in the morning at work; safe.

She climbs gingerly out of the unconventional exit and stands in the alley next to the car. "Thank you... for everything. I don't know how..."

"You don't owe me anything." His eyes pierce hers and he hopes she remembers that. The roof slides shut and the engine comes to life, then he's gone.

A/N: I've been unwisely putting off more pressing things to do because I wanted to get this out, so I may not be updating in a while :(  
As always, hope you like it. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, I appreciate it.


	4. Chapter 4

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 4

She was cold but she's sweating now as she pushes the storage cabinet against the wall. It's the only piece of furniture heavy enough to properly barricade the front door and it's taken her a good half hour to shift it four feet along the carpet. She wonders how long it would take for a strongman to push it over and concludes it wouldn't take long at all, and with a groan, realises she'll need to move the couch up as well.

_Christ, Batman could have at least offered to help rearrange the living room_, she jokes to herself, but knows that Batman has done more than enough. He saved her. The concept is so foreign because in all her twenty-six years, she has never seen it happen -- it's always everyone looking out for themselves, minding their own business, and leaving it all to the police because that's their job. Coming to a stranger's aid had become a quaint thing of the past. Of all places, Gotham City is the last in which she'd expect to be rescued.

And similarly on her list of pleasant surprises was finding her apartment untouched when she returned. A miracle. She had been dreading some second round ambush, coming home to see the place ransacked and empty, but she had been lucky. It didn't look as though anyone even came across her gaping doorway and she is thankful for once for living on the eleventh floor; there isn't much traffic up here, aside from three other households.

Alex steps back for a break after getting the cabinet in place. She spoke briefly with her landlord downstairs about the door and supposedly, he was going to send in a repairman the next day. Out of urgency, she'd like to believe, but probably just to get rid of her bothering him at this late hour. In the meantime, she settles for a makeshift hinge to hold the door in place and hopes nobody notices. Nothing should happen. All the same, she takes a kitchen knife and heavy torch to keep by her bed and rigs up on top of the cabinet an old brass bell she used to have for class. It occurs to her she's been watching too much TV and these 'protective measures' are both going overboard and mostly ineffective, but she's too afraid to risk it.

She finally gets the couch against the cabinet, forming a dual-layer blockade and leans against a counter, fatigued. She reminds herself to set her alarm an hour early so she has the time to somehow squeeze past the barrier and out the door for work. Although she will survive tonight, her future is a murky subject. Alex never thought they could find her so fast. She can only hope her enigmatic saviour has a plan.

--+--

Sunlight hits him full in the face with a swishing sound as heavy drapes are pulled aside, and Bruce drags the coverlet over his head with a muffled groan, but it's too late.

"Rise and shine, Master Wayne," Alfred informs him dutifully, "you're going to be late for work."

"Nobody cares if I'm late," Bruce mumbles in retort.

"I know, I'm just giving you the facts." Alfred sets down his breakfast on the nightstand and moves to the walk-in wardrobe to hang up a couple of freshly pressed shirts. "I noticed you were up last night in the study, sir. More research?"

When Alfred glances over his shoulder, Bruce is already sitting up, though still groggy. "Yakavetta." He hadn't found much more than what he'd gathered from Alexandra. Alfred himself had passed on a key piece of information when he'd paged Bruce in the Tumbler: Antonio Yakavetta was a second cousin of Salvatore Maroni, currently in charge of the Falcone crew. That explained the connection, but not why Yakavetta sent four of his men to Gotham. Merely for kidnapping a girl? It seemed excessive and didn't add up.

The thought of Alexandra spurs him into getting out of bed and bypassing his usual exercise routine. All of a sudden he can't wait to get to work and Alfred watches him curiously. "In a hurry, sir? This wouldn't have anything to do with that new secretary of yours, would it?" He asks offhandedly.

Bruce throws the older man a look that's half a smile and half a roll of the eyes. "Just wanting to check that she's safe, Alfred. I wouldn't be doing my job if she weren't."

"Is that so? I thought your job was playing polo and dating movie stars."

Bruce shakes his head with a grin and grabs a bagel off the breakfast tray, taking a big bite into it as he heads out the door.

After a stint of irresponsible, high-speed driving, he makes it to the centre of town in record time -- a mere twenty minutes even from Wayne Manor on the outskirts. Once in the Tower, he is bombarded as usual the moment he steps out of the elevator at the top floor by a welcoming committee of eager staff members: big enough for a G8 summit, mostly comprised of young females, and he isn't sure exactly where these employees come from or what they do. _Surely Wayne Enterprises doesn't need this many people in reception_, he muses while keeping his mouth pasted in a polite smile and weaving a path to his office. His step falters imperceptibly when he sees the empty desk outside his door.

For the first time in years, he doesn't know what to do as he stares at the spot a certain blonde recruit was supposed to fill.

"Oh, Mr Wayne," a soft voice sounds in surprise behind him and he turns to see her with a stack of files in her arms; alive and well. "How are you? I didn't know you were coming in early this morning." Of course, he was silly to have jumped to conclusions just because she wasn't in plain sight when he arrived. Relief washes over him and he finds he's able to let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding.

"I had a lucky run with traffic, I guess. How are you, Alexandra?" He watches her closely as something like indecision flits across her face before it clears just as quickly in a blink and the girl graces him with a smile he could never have told was counterfeit if he didn't know better.

"I'm fine, thank you."

She must have decided Bruce Wayne wasn't worth talking to about her life-threatening ordeal.

Alexandra sets the files down on her desk and picks up another slip of memo paper to hand to him. "Bianca called to remind you about lunch today."

He looks down at the note in perplexity, brows drawing together at this entirely foreign notion. Who on earth was Bianca Middleton? Lunch? Today?

"Something wrong, Mr Wayne?" Alexandra peers up at him, concerned. "Did I write her name correctly?"

Then he remembers. Bianca Middleton, violinist, met her at the symphony. "No, it's fine," he assures her. "Could you please make a reservation for two at Dorsia at twelve-thirty and send a cab for Bianca to meet me there."

She nods promptly and then hesitates. "Mr Wayne, I'm not sure if they'll have a table at Dorsia at this short notice? I heard it's impossible to get a reservation there."

"Well, they should; I own the place."

Alexandra dips her head again meekly. Great, now he made it seem like it was an obvious fact he expected her to have known. But he stays silent, because Bruce Wayne doesn't apologise.

The rest of the morning passes uneventfully until it's time for him to step out for a lunch date he didn't plan on having and with a woman he barely remembered. As he leaves the building, he spies Alexandra at the water fountain with Jessica, Fox's secretary, sharing a laugh. A genuine one -- not like the polite smiles she makes in his company, which, though pleasant, don't light up her face to look the way it does right now. He's glad to see that she's settling in and making friends. At the same time, he can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy that she's able to connect with humanity, whereas he has lost a part of his own.

Bruce arrives at the restaurant late but his date doesn't appear to mind as she rises from her seat at the table and greets him enthusiastically. He tries to reciprocate but he simply isn't in the mood for vacant small talk when his attention keeps slipping elsewhere. On any other occasion he's sure he would have been enthralled by the gorgeous Bianca Middleton, whom Evelyn would probably call 'his type': perfectly coiffed auburn ringlets, a model figure, and dressed to kill in a provocative lavender dress. Today, however, he is more interested in his surroundings.

He thought he was seeing things at first when someone looking uncannily like Sal Maroni enters the restaurant. He brings a female companion with him so Bruce remains unsure, until a third person joins them. Robert Yakavetta. Sporting an impressive amount of black and blue that isn't clothing, the mobster draws a bit of hushed attention from other patrons, but since they're all high society folk, they don't stare and soon go back to their own conversations.

Bruce is restless by now. He has no appetite for the squid ravioli on his plate which he pushes around uneasily. He can't do anything in public. What he really wants is to find out what they're up to by beating it out of them, but even as Batman he doubts that will yield him results.

"Bruce? Are you feeling alright?" Bianca asks.

He smiles and makes an excuse about not being very hungry.

At that moment, Maroni and Yakavetta get up and head for the restroom. He has to move.

"Bianca, would you please excuse me?" Bruce doesn't wait for an answer as he makes his way as inconspicuously as possible to the same location. Checking that he catches no suspicious glances, he slips past the swing door.

Inside, it's as lavish as the rest of the prestigious restaurant, with a spacious vestibule that surrounds an inner chamber that is the actual restroom. Conveniently for Bruce, he knows the vestibule has some niche hiding spots (potentially for perverts, but Dorsia takes the gamble that it doesn't attract such clientele) where he can eavesdrop.

Without a sound, he presses himself against an alcove in the wall. He hears Maroni speak first.

"So when's the next shipment comin' along?"

"In two days. C'mon Sally, you can trust me, I got it covered. Nothin's gonna go wrong."

Maroni doesn't sound convinced. "You got found out already, Robbie. If he's onto you, he's gonna come for the coke. I don't like it."

"It ain't gonna be a problem! We'll have a lot more guys, you know that. Last night was just gettin' back at that Reilly chick, we only had a coupla --"

"You didn't listen to me, did you? That Batman guy singlehandedly took down Falcone himself _and_ twelve other men the last time we got a deal this big. How many guys are you plannin' to put on this one? Robbie, you're practically family, I know, but if you fuck this up I'm doin' no more business with your cousin and you can go back to Boston."

"I promise you, Sally, your shipment is gonna be A-OK."

Their footsteps pass him without pause, clacking on the tiles, and the squeak of the door hinge signals their departure. Bruce waits a cautionary minute before following them out and returning to his table.

He manages to liven up his conversation with Bianca for the remainder of their meal, but instead of taking her out for the afternoon, which she seemed to be hoping for, he invents an unbreakable appointment and brings their meeting to an end. She looks somewhat disappointed -- he doesn't think he lived up to his notorious reputation -- but she still insists on seeing him again. As he watches her climb into the cab, Bruce reminds himself this time to come up with a way out of it. For the time being, he's got work to do.

A/N: Yep, still alive. Thanks for the reviews! I'm afraid this chapter's a bit of a filler, you know, for logistics, and it took forever to write, but with it out of the way I'll be able to get to the fun stuff quicker. Stay tuned.


	5. Chapter 5

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 5

The sun slips under the horizon the moment she reaches home. Shadows stretch out in an instant yawn covering the ground: shadows in which her eyes pick up phantom shapes that she needs to constantly double check are not actually there. All the way from the metro, Alex has been looking over her shoulder for signs of being tailed or jumped.

In hindsight, it wasn't such a good idea to put off facing home for so long. Now it was dark and she's even more vulnerable.

When she reaches her floor, she lets out a sigh of relief to find her door standing properly in its frame, upright, not crooked, secured. Fixed, as promised. "Thank you, Mr Pereira," she says under her breath for the landlord who had been true to his word.

Her hands are still shaky as she fits the key into the lock but she's finally starting to calm down. She's made it back safely, she didn't encounter any strange people despite her paranoia, and her door is intact. Alex slips into her apartment, hits the light switch and _holy shit_ there is a hulking great mass of black standing in the middle of her living room.

She screams.

"_Jesus Christ!_" Her hand flies to her chest as she backs up against the wall and tries to catch her breath. "You scared me half to death!"

Batman is motionless but he offers a contrite twitch of the mouth. "Sorry."

"How did you get in here? _What_ are you doing here?" She does a quick scan of the place for a breach but can't see anything out of the ordinary, aside from the fact that her intruder had pulled shut all of the window blinds.

"You might want a better lock on your bedroom window." Batman tips his head slightly to the left.

Her eyes widen as an expression akin to horror dawns on her face. _He came in through the bedroom?!_ It then partially melts into confusion. "Is that -- is that what you're here for? Testing the security?"

"Not exactly. You and I need to talk." His growl of a voice is so indecipherable she can't tell if she is supposed to look expectant, or flee.

"OK..." Alex unsurely settles on staying put for the time being. "About what?"

"You can't stay at home on Saturday night."

She blinks at him. He's lost her completely there. "What do you mean?" It almost sounded like an order for her to go clubbing, if his tone weren't so serious.

"Find a safe place to spend the night, with people you know. The Yakavettas are working with the local mob on a cocaine import due to arrive on Saturday." He pauses a moment for her to digest this new information. "Most likely, they'll be too busy to put a hit on you at the same time, but I can't be here to guarantee your safety."

"Oh." Alex runs through her head her list of accommodation options (not a very long list, given how little friends she has in Gotham) and strikes off most of them -- deciding that _hi Mrs Van Patten, do you mind if I crash at your place for the night while the mob's on my tail_ wasn't going to fly. She might be able to turn to Jessica since the girl had been nice and generous so far, but then again, a self-invited sleepover was a pretty big imposition.

And she hasn't forgotten that there were no helpful or kind people in this city. But she's made an exception now for Batman.

"Well, I, um, don't know a lot of people here, so... what if I can't find somewhere to stay? I mean, I'll certainly try, but at the moment, my best bet looks to be a hotel room, or," ironically, she notes to herself, "a nightclub where at least I'll be in public."

There's a measured pause as Batman seems to go through _his_ list of options. Or maybe he was questioning her decision-making abilities when she mentioned a nightclub. Because an overcrowded, boozy and deafening joint where no one could hear you scream was clearly the pinnacle of sanctuary. "Ask for Lieutenant Gordon at the police station. You can trust him."

A trustworthy cop in Gotham? Alex is intrigued by Batman's connections with one of the few remaining good cops and wonders if Batman himself isn't an over-zealous policeman who's taking his overtime way too seriously. "Are you a cop, by any chance?" She ventures cautiously.

"Do I look like a cop?" Unexpectedly, her question brings a faint smile to his face.

It's an unusual sight and she ends up staring at him, unconsciously, because he looks almost familiar in a way she can't place. It reminds her that he's human. He drops eye contact when the moment becomes too long and she looks away as well in reflex.

An alarming thought occurs to her and she looks up at her masked ally again. "Wait a minute, what about tomorrow? Won't I be more of an open target when they're not busy?"

His mouth parts, about to say something, but he hesitates. "That's the other reason I'm here."

"Which is?" She prompts.

"Making sure you're OK. Keeping watch."

His voice reveals nothing but she gets the distinct feeling he was trying to avoid saying he was playing babysitter, essentially. Maybe he didn't want to freak her out or make her feel like a liability. She's wrong, though.

"I said I'd take care of your problem... and this is the only way I know how to." She's taken aback by how intense his eyes have gotten, darkening into a frown under the mask. It visibly hurts him to say that he doesn't have another plan for keeping her from harm.

On impulse, Alex steps forward from the wall she's been leaning against and tries to reassure him he hasn't failed in any way. "Hey... look, it's OK, you don't have to hang around if --"

"I do." There's a quiet anger in his voice that breaches the surface and while she she's fairly sure his wrath isn't directed at her, what this man contains within himself scares her. The room falls silent. He softens his following words just above a whisper. "I don't want your blood on my hands if anything happens. I can't risk that."

She watches him with a touch of melancholy. It's been a long time since she's come across anyone so selflessly committed to the wellbeing of others, and a small part of her would like to think he saw more to her than just another person he had to save. She can't imagine the burden he must place on himself, feeling responsible for other people's messes.

But such an arrangement to watch over her can't go on indefinitely. "OK." She agrees to Batman camping out at her humble apartment (not that he asked for her permission, or anything). "It's only for two nights, then, right? What happens after Saturday?"

"If we block the shipment, the Yakavettas will lose Maroni's backing. They might leave, they might stay on."

"Let's hope they leave," she murmurs. An empty gnawing in her stomach reminds her that she hasn't eaten and her eye wanders off to the kitchen momentarily. "Um, Batman?"

He looks down at her alertly.

She wishes he hadn't; now she was going to sound even dumber. "I'm, uh, about to make dinner... have you eaten yet? Did you want anything to eat?" _What was the proper etiquette for offering meals to strangers who break into your home?_

Expectedly, he returns her a stunned, blank look, then shakes his head. "I'm fine."

_Awkward_. Silence spans between them as Alex goes off to make a quick pasta dish and she wonders how she's going to survive the rest of the night with the big Bat in her home. Was she supposed to attempt conversation? Personal topics were clearly off limits, given his anonymity, and she wasn't prepared to have a one-sided chat about herself. The job interview at the start of the week was enough of that.

"The people who killed the last Yakavetta boss," Batman interrupts her thoughts, "what happened to them?"

"The Saints? They went public. But they're in hiding now." She sets her plate down at the kitchen table. "Guess it wasn't such a great idea." Their courtroom execution stunt had the town and media in a frenzy, polarising on the issue of whether their actions were good or bad. At the same time, they made themselves the target of many reprisal attacks. "Would you ever do it? Reveal who you are?" She asks.

"If I did, I'd ruin everything I built," he replies softly.

He leaves to let her eat in peace, sensing her unease. When she finishes, she joins him again tentatively in the living room. He has dimmed the lights and was surveying the streets outside through the gaps in the window blinds.

"Anything?" She pipes worriedly.

"No." He doesn't turn around. "You should get some rest."

She gulps. Whatever he said came out sounding like an order. It was still early, only just past ten, but she admits she _was_ tired, with two nights of barely any sleep. Still, she was reluctant to go to bed while he was here.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything." He reassures her.

Grudgingly, she decides he was right. She disappears into her room and the door clicks shut.

* * *

A/N: OK, I'm not 100 percent sure about this Batman-babysitter plot device, because it might seem a bit... weird/ridiculous, but it was kind of the only good idea I could come up with. O.o  
If you do in fact think it's rather weird/ridiculous, feedback is always welcome D and I'll see if I can work around it. Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies. But there will be _no crossovers_.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 6

Bruce had come prepared.

His time (well spent) at Princeton University taught him a great many things on handling boredom. As he planned his stake-out, he made sure to bring with him a remote link to the computer systems at home so he could still do his usual research and monitoring. With fortune favouring the organised, he even managed to track some promising leads on the GCPD network regarding the cocaine drop, after having earlier that day tipped off Gordon. The hours passed slowly, the suit got on his nerves, and he worried over what evil he was failing to prevent on the streets in his absence. But these things he had all foreseen.

Bruce was not prepared for the way he ended up -- sitting on Alexandra's bed and holding the trembling girl curled up against his chest to ease her out of a bad dream. Not prepared _at all_.

He had burst through her door when he heard a short, muffled scream -- muscles tense, combat mode, kicks and punches at the ready -- only to find her alone and lying in a foetal position with her back to him. Shallow, uneven gasps punctuated the stillness of the air, telltale sounds of crying, and he gingerly stepped around to the other side of the bed and crouched before her.

Her eyelids had fluttered wetly at half-mast, red rimmed, while the back of a hand was pressed to her mouth. "I'm OK," she croaked miserably. "Just a dream."

He watched her wipe her eyes, her hands, it seemed, trying to shield her face from him. Being witness to something like this was far too personal, too intimate.

Rising, Bruce bent over her petite form and slipped a hand softly to her shoulder. "C'mere." He prompted her to sit up and with his other hand wrapping around her, he pulled her to him. He forgot to mask his voice but she didn't notice.

His hands now roam over her back in soothing, lazy patterns while her sobs subside, the rough padding of his gloves unused to such activity. Her forehead rests against the base of his neck, feeling the slow rise and fall of his breathing. He wishes he didn't have the rigid armour between them, to be able to hold her properly. It can't be comfortable for her, but she seems to take peace from it anyhow.

"I miss them." She says shakily.

His chin dips to graze the top of her head. Soft tendrils of pale hair smelling of green apples and peaches caress his skin and he inhales deeply, on instinct. "I miss my parents as well."

Alexandra draws away from him slightly as she lifts her head up. She peers at him in the moonlight with eyes commiserative in wordless understanding, eyes he could get lost in.

"They were killed a long time ago."

"I'm so sorry." She buries her face into his neck again and her arms tighten around his waist.

"It's not your fault," Bruce mirrors her own words back to her, but he's no longer concentrating on speech as he finds himself far more distracted by how good it feels to have her pressed against him like this. It isn't as though he had any shortage of female company, but it's been a long time since he felt _connected_ to someone.

He doesn't keep track of the time. After a while, Alexandra shifts and she's looking up at him again with those mesmerising eyes. "Thank you." It's a simple but heartfelt gesture and for some reason it shortens his breath and sends his head in a spin.

He lets go of her almost reluctantly. "Go back to sleep." He moves to sit at the end of the bed by the footboard, leaving her more space, and gazes over her prone figure as she slips away to unconsciousness. Evelyn got it wrong if she thought Alexandra wasn't his type. Certainly, Bruce Wayne the socialite has his track record of dating a particular category of women -- ones for whom the label 'vixen' springs to mind -- and Evelyn no doubt expected him to be screwing his first secretary too (with all good intentions from her, nonetheless), but Bruce Wayne the man behind the mask doesn't buy into it. Alexandra was not a glamorous, sultry bombshell, but her fresh-faced beauty brightens him. It's understated, he realises for the first time, just like that pretty contour she cuts under the blankets, kept secret by all her modest clothing. _If she chose to_, he muses, _she'd be devastating_. He mentally breaks himself off before the images that suddenly cloud his mind devolve into impropriety. _He_ needs sleep soon.

At five o'clock, he leaves, ghosting through shadows while dawn is on the rise and early morning workers begin filing out of their homes.

--+--

"Where's pretty boy today?" Jessica arches a dark eyebrow as she stops by Alex's desk. "The reception girls are getting catty without their prince to swoon over."

"His butler called to just say he wouldn't be coming in," Alex shrugs. "No reasons why." She's actually looking forward to her boss having the day off because she needs the time to herself to sort things out; it was perfect timing. Admittedly, her work isn't difficult or strenuous in the least, but she is constantly on call -- and when he's around, Wayne tends to consume her time with trivial errands (like fetching him _mineral water_).

Jessica chuckles lightly. "Well, no matter, it's not like he does anything useful here. Speaking of which, what _does_ Bruce Wayne do at work?" She leans in conspiratorially, eyes darting, voice hushing. "I mean, I know you've only been here two days, but you've seen his schedule, haven't you? Anything juicy?"

Alex has to stifle a laugh at her co-worker's scandalous curiosity. "To be honest, I'm not sure what he does either. Just a whole lot of meetings, and lunch meetings, and..." her eyes tilt upwards as she tries to bring out a memory of him while in his office, "and sometimes he'll stay in his room and asks not to be disturbed." Before Jessica gets the wrong idea, she adds, "He'll actually look serious, like he's doing work."

"Serious?" The other woman repeats the word disbelievingly. "This from the same man who, when I first met him, tried to teach me golf outside the conference room?" She shakes her head sceptically. "I don't know, Alex. The only time I've seen Mr Wayne remotely serious is when he's speaking with Lucius. And even still, they joke around and talk about... well, _bizarre_ things."

The two of them clam up when Van Patten strolls by, who in turn eyes them suspiciously for exhibiting behaviour oh so typical of gossipers. Her eye also descends into dismay when she takes in Alex's unsatisfactory appearance. Her lips purse together, drawing sudden wrinkles that belie her real age. "Alexandra, I hope you remember your appointment on Sunday with Jean-Pierre," she issues a warning and continues on her way.

The moment Van Patten's back is turned, Alex makes a face of disgust at the prospect. "I'd rather chew glass."

Jessica wears an amused smirk and pats her playfully on the shoulder. "There, there. I can't _wait_ to see your 'new look' on Monday."

Alex laughs along but is cut short once her inner pessimist pipes up a reminder that she might not be around by Monday.

"So... any plans for you this weekend?" She asks surreptitiously.

A broad grin spreads excitedly across the other woman's face. "I'm glad you asked, hon. Max and I are having our anniversary!"

Alex blinks, stunned. Well, that wasn't quite what she had in mind in terms of likely answers. She finds her tongue. "Oh! Wow, um, congratulations! How many years? I had no idea you were married."

"It's our first year. We're going to Vegas for the weekend! I'm so excited," she's genuinely glowing, with hands clasped up to her heart, and Alex can't help but feel happy for her. To be young and in love... so idyllic. "How about you, Alex? Got a dark, handsome charmer to sweep you off your feet tonight?"

"Uh..." she thinks of evading the question, but decides to settle for cryptic. "Maybe, Jess, maybe." It's a quarter true.

Jessica's mouth forms a highly intrigued 'O' and she wags a finger. "Very interesting." She glances at the ornate, round clockface on the wall behind Alex. "Damn, it's eleven. Lucius is going to wonder where I've been. I'll catch you later!" She beat a hasty retreat and Alex is left to herself again.

At about lunch time, Alex takes off early because now she _really_ needs to find an option for Saturday night.

She finds herself standing on the steps of the Gotham City Police Department and takes a deep breath as she looks up at the building. She's got a hundred doubts floating as butterflies in her stomach, never having trusted the police much, but it's her final resort and if Batman put his faith in this, she would have to.

Inside, she sits on a tacky plastic chair in waiting while bodies mill around her in constant activity. Nobody notices her, which suits her just fine, and she makes random guesses in the dark on who might or might not be on the payrolls of crime bosses.

"Ms Reilly?" A dark-haired man approaches her from the side. She stands. "I'm Lieutenant Jim Gordon," he extends a hand, "pleased to meet you. My office is this way." He leads her into a cosy little space he calls an office, scattered with files, books and paraphernalia that makes her smile a bit because it reminds her of her father's workspace at home.

And then she notices that there's another person in the room.

"Ah, this is Rachel Dawes from the DA's office," Gordon explains. "She's been working with us on bringing down the Falcone syndicate... which, I believe, is what you mentioned you wanted to discuss?"

"Um, yes," Alex nods as she takes a seat across the desk from the policeman.

The other woman has a cell phone to her ear, flashing a quick smile of greeting at Alex and Gordon before her eyes focus elsewhere and she half turns away to the window with a frown. "What? Who authorised that?" Whatever it was on the other end of the line obviously wasn't going well. "I don't care if he's protected from up on high by the prince of darkness himself, you _cannot_ release this guy on bail. Get Harvey on this immediately and do not let Kint out of your sight." She snaps the phone shut forcefully and closes her eyes in exasperation. "Like working with _imbeciles_," she mutters to herself. Bringing herself back to face the other occupants of the room, she smiles again. "Sorry about that. I'm Rachel Dawes," she introduces herself.

"Alexandra Reilly," Alex returns. The woman's voice sounds oddly familiar. She doesn't think she's seen her before, but that brisk cadence... was this the same Rachel who called for Bruce Wayne on her first day of work? That one time Wayne had ever looked serious?

"You also said you were fearful for your safety," Gordon glances at a notepad. "Can you tell us about that?"

"Well," she begins hesitantly, "it's not really so much about the Falcones as it is about the new guys, the Yakavettas. I... kind of know them," at this, both Gordon and Rachel sharpened to attention, "and I tried -- I thought I could leave my past behind when I moved to Gotham, but no such luck." She fiddles nervously with the hem of her skirt at her knees. "So now, they've found me, and I need your help."

Gordon's eyes are intense in concentration behind his thick-rimmed spectacles as he assesses the situation. "When you say they found you, were you attacked?"

Alex nods. "But I --" she pauses, because she's been trying to sidestep mentioning Batman's involvement, only now it seemed inevitable. "I was rescued by Batman."

The reaction in both her interviewers was stark. If she thought she had their interest before, now she _really_ had it.

"And what happened?" Gordon asks.

"He told me to come to you, actually."

She gives him a summarised version of the events from the last two days, drawing, it seems, even more incredulous looks when she has to explain her need for an overnight safe haven on Saturday specifically, because Batman has been looking out for her at other times.

"He's never done that before," Rachel comments softly, a curious angle in the way she looks at Alex.

"I guess you're welcome to stay here at the station, if you want. We've always got room," Gordon momentarily casts his eye over the cluttered office, "or I can always make room," he adds. "How does that sound?"

Safe enough. There'd be armed officers on duty even on the graveyard shift. The building was fortified with locks and security cameras and everything else. Only a madman would launch an attack on the police headquarters and while the Yakavettas were determined, they weren't suicidal.

Alex dips her head up and down vigorously and allows a hopeful smile break out. "Thank you, Lieutenant Gordon."

"No need to thank me," Gordon smiles back warmly. "Besides, I owe Batman this much at the least for what he's done for this city. I just hope he knows what he's doing."

* * *

A/N: So, six chapters in and it occurs to me I should probably do a **disclaimer**. I'm usually of the view fanfic disclaimers are rubbish, and I was deliberately being vague about the movie references because I wanted to let people discover those for themselves, but now that some people have spotted a few (kudos!), I need to clarify that they're only in there for fun, and I don't plan to make a crossover or have cameos or any of that sort.

I'm going to leave the list of references until the end, but for now:

_Characters_ -- you'll know the ones from the movie-verse. Originals are (so far, anyway): Alex Reilly, Evelyn Van Patten, Robert & Antonio Yakavetta (partially), Bianca Middleton.

_Plot_ -- Alex's background incorporates aspects of _The Boondock Saints_. The Yakavetta mafia belongs to that world but I've spawned Robert & Antonio for the purposes of this story. The Saints have also been borrowed for their history.

And as always, thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies. But there will be _no crossovers_.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 7

The world is so much larger around him as he walks down a carpeted hallway, the walls decorated with paintings and tapestry and exquisitely carved marble. There's fear in his heart.

He knows he's walked this passage countless times before -- the first time, he is afraid of shadowy swarming creatures; now, he is afraid of loss. Flanking him are his parents, who push open the side exit door despite every fibre in him trying to tell them _no_, trying to steer them away, trying to move the unyielding, cemented arms of his eight-year-old body which shuffles along obliviously down the path of the inevitable.

He stands powerless as he watches his parents die, and feels the tears run down his face as wet and as hot as he remembers. The hollow eyes of Joe Chill haunt him, remorseless, apathetic, even as the life fades out of them many years later from a gun that's not his, and Bruce has been robbed _again_; no matter how much he screams and claws and rages at the memory with all the helpless fury brimming inside him, _he can never make it right_ --

With a jolt, Bruce is woken by Alfred for the second time in two days as the butler knocks and enters his room, laying down Bruce's casual slacks and t-shirt on the bed.

"You have a visitor, Master Wayne," Alred informs, "Miss Dawes is waiting in the foyer."

Bruce is still barely able to squint his eyes open as his brain struggles to pull thoughts together. "Rachel? What... what time is it?"

"Quarter past three, sir."

Alfred leaves to carry on with the rest of his duties while Bruce rubs his eyes, pulling his hand away to find moisture. It seemed bad dreams were contagious.

Hastily brushing his teeth and splashing water on his face, Bruce dresses and goes out to find Rachel in the foyer as promised, idly gazing at Wayne family photos lined up on a mantlepiece to occupy herself. She seems lost in her own thoughts for the moment.

"Rachel," he says, and she spins around with a start.

"Bruce," she beams back and he relaxes a little in the knowledge that she isn't on any emergency mission, but at the same time, he doesn't miss the tension in her shoulders. "I didn't hear you coming out," she discloses.

"How are things? What brings you all the way out here?"

"I was in the area; got called out on the investigation into Robert Caldlow's disappearance."

He looks at her pointedly. "Caldlow's disappearance." He repeats in question.

"Slipped under your radar, did it?"

Her voice is odd, like there's something just under the surface and he's not sure what to make of this. _Does she know...?_

Rachel lifts a hand up to her brow. "Sorry. I didn't mean it to come out like that. Look... I was at Jim's office earlier and this girl came in." The hand drops away and their eyes meet directly: blue to blue. "I think you know what I'm talking about."

His lips press together, stretch; not quite a smile. He nods. "And you think I shouldn't be doing this."

"I didn't say that," she counters, "I just wanted to be sure you've thought this through. It doesn't seem like you..." _to put the rest of Gotham at risk for one person_, he can see the thought finishing her sentence even as she trails off. Perhaps she has already forgotten the time he saved her from Crane's toxin.

Bruce crosses his arms, feeling at once awkward for being in a disagreement with Rachel like this. "I have thought about it. There's nothing going on the police force can't handle." Besides, there are nights when he doesn't patrol due to a Wayne-related function or the like. He doesn't know what she wants from him; first she wanted him to stop being Batman, now she was trying to tell him how to do his job.

"If you say so," she offers unsurely. "Is there -- is there something else? She's more to you than just a girl off the street, isn't she?"

"I don't believe that's any of your business, Rachel."

He can't hide the coldness in his voice even as his tone remains soft, and Rachel looks at him sadly, maybe even with pain. She's wishing for the man he'll never be: the man he never really was. He has been dormant until now. He can shed his batsuit and give up the night job, but there's no going back.

"I'm sorry." He's sorry for a lot of things.

"I guess I should leave." She avoids his eyes as she picks up her bag and walks away to the front door, letting herself out.

_Great_. He's alienated his oldest friend -- it seems all he's able to do -- and it's only a matter of time before one day he'll lose Alfred as well.

--+--

He's late tonight. Waylaid by a chase in the Narrows, Batman hunted down three escapees from Arkham before arriving at Alexandra's apartment. She's more prepared for him this time, watching from the bedroom window and opening it up for him so he doesn't have to jimmy the lock.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to come," she says, her voice hinting at relief.

"I don't make promises I can't keep." He hasn't seen her all day and that absence makes itself felt when he lays eyes on her. "Anything unusual happen?"

"No, not unless you count my boss taking the day off, but I doubt he's involved." She's looking away and doesn't catch the tiny grin he allows himself at the irony of what she said. "Oh, and I went to see Lieutenant Gordon. He's letting me stay at the police station on Saturday."

"Good." He rumbles. One less thing to worry about with matters in Gordon's capable hands.

"Will you be OK?"

He blinks at her in surprise at the question.

"I mean, you're not going to be taking them on alone, are you?"

She was worried about him?

His silence flusters her. "Uh, I mean, not that you _couldn't_ -- I'm sure your abilities far exceed those morons -- it's just, if anything should happen, um --"

"There'll be cops." He interrupts her in reassurance and she seems satisfied with that.

And then there was a scratch at the door.

They both hear it, a barely audible sound, heads turning in that direction -- Batman alert, Alexandra fearful -- and he points for her to stay back and hide somewhere. He stalks to the front door and the noises come clearer: a lockpick working on the deadbolt from the other side. With a _snick_ the last resistance is gone and the door swings open as two men in ski masks barge through, only to realise too late that the tables have been unexpectedly turned. That second of stumbling recognition is all it takes for Batman to strike and his fist connects resoundingly with jawbone while his knee rams forcefully into the second man's stomach.

But his blood runs cold when he hears glass shatter in the other room and a familiar scream.

He's tackled to the ground in his distraction by a heavy oaf, the air knocked out of his chest, and he lifts his arm just in time to block a glint of metal as it slashes a trajectory down to his face. With a grunt, he kicks off the assailant while grasping his arm in a twist, dislocating the man's shoulder. The agonised cry that results assures him he's no longer a threat and Bruce races for the bedroom, leaving behind the two fallen men. He has to get to her. _God, if she's hurt_ --

He sees them silhouetted against the broken window: a man attempting to pull her out with him as she struggles like a wildcat to escape his grip. As soon as he approaches, the man flicks out a knife and lines it to her throat.

"Stay back!" He warns.

Batman growls in response. "Let her go."

"You wish," the man bares his teeth nastily through the mouth hole of the mask and jerks Alexandra backwards, closer to the window. She gasps; her eyes as round as saucers stare at him while Bruce tries to think.

"There's no way you can get out of here while keeping a hold on her," he throws, hoping to suss out the man's escape plan or shake his confidence.

The man scowls, his eyes shifting, and it seems Bruce has hit a nerve. The only exit strategy by the window was down a fire escape ladder, but that required a leap. Nonetheless, the thug perseveres and scrambles with difficulty out onto the window sill while keeping his knife hand at the girl's neck. He's half crouching half sitting on the ledge, now in a more precarious position, and his eyes predictably glance in nervousness to the eleven-storey drop.

In a flash, Bruce hurls a razor-edged batarang at the man's shoulder, a clearer shot now that it was elevated and further from Alexandra's body. The man shrieks. The knife tumbles and the impact shoves him off the ledge, but as Bruce runs to the window, he finds the man has caught onto a balcony railing some floors below, still roaring like a banshee from the pain. His endurance is impressive, though, for he swings his way to the fire escape and scurries down.

Bruce turns to the girl beside him, who has slumped to the carpet breathing heavily.

"Alexandra?" He cups a hand to the back of her neck and hastily pushes aside her hair to check if she has been injured. Her head tips back, stretching the milky white column before him, and there's a raw red line marring the skin. Thankfully, it isn't bleeding.

"You can call me Alex," she manages a tired smile in between slowing pants. "Alexandra is for strangers."

_Alex_. Somewhere in the back of his head, he'll ponder why she's given this privilege to Batman and yet considers Bruce Wayne a stranger, but for the time being he's minding his surroundings and he returns to the front door. It's gaping open but the thugs are long gone. And he's not really surprised that there's no one in the hallway outside, no one curious, no one willing to get involved or help out at the sound of a struggle.

He shuts the door and goes back to the bedroom, frowning at all the glass shards littering the ground and picks up Alexand -- _Alex_ -- to seat her on the bed. He's about to stand back up but the arms she's wound around his neck don't let go, and he's in a limbo of surprise and uncertainty when she tips her face up to him, and suddenly his mouth is feeling the soft pressure of hers.

His mind goes blank. Thought processes scatter, leaving only baser instincts, and so it was that he couldn't begin to describe how _good_ it felt -- her warmth, her proximity, her sweet scent. He leans into her without knowing, palms at the small of her back pressing in. His heart's racing and he's so stunned that as quickly as it happened, she draws back. His eyes snap open and Alex looks almost as surprised as he is.

"I'm sorry," she blurts, "I... I shouldn't have done --"

He doesn't let her finish and pulls her in for another kiss; a proper one. Lips yield to him willingly and part at the gentle flick of his tongue, a sigh carried on hot breath passing into his mouth. One hand slides up her spine to cradle her head as he pushes further, kissing her thoroughly because first taste had him addicted and now he can't get enough. Tracing her fingers along his jaw, her touch is reverent and sensual, and he's never hated his batsuit as much as he does now. He's heating up faster than he does in battle and he's so... _constricted_.

Reluctantly, he breaks the kiss to breathe, lips dragging sideways to rest against her cheek. While he'd love to continue, he doesn't really want to know how she'd react if he took off the mask. It's terrible timing.

"I can't really do this right now," he murmurs.

She stills in his embrace, and turns her head slightly to look at him. There's a sudden spread of worry in her eyes and he wonders if he's done something wrong. "You're not... married, are you?"

Bruce cracks a smile and shakes his head. "No. Far from it." He kisses her forehead. "I meant the suit."

With that peace of mind, she sinks back into his arms and they lie backwards onto the bed. Never mind the broken window and the light breeze flowing through; he couldn't care less in that moment and he doesn't imagine Alex would either.

"Will you ever show me who you are?" She whispers.

He doesn't know and in many ways he's been too afraid to be unmasked to her. He's freer when he's faceless: simpler, absolute, a guardian of the night. As Bruce Wayne... she'd be disappointed.

"That's OK. I understand if you can't." She smiles softly even at his silence and her half-lidded eyes gradually fall close. Somehow, her words sadden him.

"One day."

His words go unheard but he isn't going to let her down.

* * *

A/N: You can clearly tell I'm trying to fast track this. Because readers deserve to have their faith rewarded...! LOL hope it meets with your approval ;)

A note about the **timeframe**: Yes I did mention it wasn't specific so I wouldn't end up creating inconsistencies, but as you can probably tell, treat this like the end of BB with minor adjustments. (Like Wayne Manor still standing -- no particular reason, other than I just like Wayne Manor because it's iconic and it's the birthplace of Batman's identity, etc...)

Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies. But there will be _no crossovers_.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 8

The water glistens like black oil beneath the gangway as large wooden crates are unloaded at the Docks. Fourteen, maybe fifteen men shuffle about in the process; six are from the ship's crew and the rest are Maroni's. One of the guys takes a crowbar to the first crate and pops the lid, shining a torch into its contents.

"Hey, there's no coke!" He exclaims.

Another man promptly whacks him on the back of the head. "Will ya keep it down, bozo? The coke's hidden _inside_."

Bruce recognises the voice as Robert Yakavetta.

"Oh," the first man utters dimly in realisation as Yakavetta picks up a figurine and smashes it against the side of the crate, revealing a bag of white powder in the hollow structure.

Several more crates are hauled out under Yakavetta's direction, stacking up along the pier, as a Peterbilt truck arrives to transport their cargo. They're all on edge, Yakavetta particularly so. Squinting into shadows, he tightens his grip on the rifle in hand and points it at a random angle in what he probably hopes is a threatening manner. Bruce allows himself a brief smile. The man isn't even facing him.

He peels away from the wall in a dark swoop, slashing the tyres of the truck in an instant before vanishing again. The loud hiss of deflation draws attention easily and commotion erupts; fear runs thick in this gang and they respond with disorder. A couple flee at this first sign of trouble and Batman picks them off with minimal effort.

"Show yourself, ya cowardly scum!" Yakavetta challenges, but his bravado falls short of covering the waver in his voice. He lets loose a volley of shots in an arc while he and his men back up toward the crates. Bruce notices that the six crew members have high-tailed it back to their ship, no doubt wanting to still make a getaway, but he isn't too concerned. Coast Guards had been alerted and would be ready for them.

The remaining men on the Docks are for Gordon. He'd asked the Lieutenant for a fifteen minute lead before the MCU squad showed up and he intended to deliver. Latched to the underside struts of the pier, Batman makes his way to the back of the wooden crates and silently hoists himself over the edge. He takes out one of the mobsters from behind in the blink of an eye, the man never knowing what hit him, and then it's _game on_ as the gun barrels point to him and the bodies fly out of his path. Few manage to fire, their weapons slow and awkward at close range, and those who do have a hard enough time trying to lock an aim on him.

"Son of a --" Yakavetta doesn't get the chance to finish his sentence as he takes a roundhouse kick to the temple and crumples, his gun clattering to the ground. With a surveying glance, Bruce is satisfied to note that he is the last man standing.

Lights flood the scene. The cops have arrived en masse in their armoured SUVs and Bruce sees Gordon running out to meet him.

"It looks like you've got everything covered," Gordon comments drily while casting an eye over the mess of bodies sprawled about. His officers were in the process of seeing to all of them, snapping on handcuffs whether they were conscious or not, and clearing them of any potential weapons.

"You came at a good time."

"I came in time for the clean up, I can see that."

An angry shout nearby has both of their heads turn.

"Get off'a me!" A string of curses spew forth from a recently wakened Yakavetta, red in the face and hands trussed behind his back, glaring up at the uniforms around him. His eyes train on Batman and he starts to shake in rage. "You'll pay for this! I'm gonna kill your precious bitch, you hear me? She's dead!"

Bruce keeps his face stony and resists the urge to rip out the man's blithering tongue. He ignores the taunts as Yakavetta is pulled away into a van and instead questions Gordon. "How is Ms Reilly?"

Gordon gives him a curious look and then shrugs. "She's fine. She's staying in my office and I called her just twenty minutes ago."

Bruce nods. "Good."

A junior officer comes up to interrupt them. "Sir, we've received word from USCG that the Colombian traffickers have been detained," he reports.

"Excellent. Have them meet us at County."

By the time Gordon turns back, Batman has slipped away unnoticed.

--+--

Alex stands at the window, assessing the new pane of glass just fitted with an absentminded pout of dissatisfaction. There was nothing wrong with the repair work, but she'd had to fork out a hefty surcharge to get the tradesman out on a Sunday and on short notice. _Damn extortionist_. It was a good thing she was getting paid next week otherwise she was going to reach her overdraft limit; two major repair bills in one week had all but cleaned out her account.

Sighing, she drops her knees and plops backward onto the bed. She hasn't heard from him since waking up alone on Saturday morning, although he had been considerate enough to secure the curtains against the broken glass as a makeshift screen. Even on Saturday night, he had been absent and it was Gordon who informed her they'd arrested everyone and the mission had been a success. Alex is relieved about that, too. At the same time, her mind keeps coming back to _him_, and she's been driven to distraction with all her conjectures.

His masked face suddenly appears at her window and she starts, barely biting back a yelp. She wasn't expecting him quite so soon; it was only dusk. Nevertheless, his appearance was welcome and she lets him in, watching him with rapt, anxious eyes.

Batman stares back wordlessly, seemingly puzzled, and her anxiety escalates. "What happened to your hair?"

Alex is stunned for a second and then laughs. "Oh! This?" She runs her fingers tentatively through the new ringlets she's sporting, still unused to the feeling. "I went to a stylist today -- was forced to, actually -- and he permed my hair, and told me to be fashionable and all that." She looks at him unsurely from beneath her lashes. "Is it... um, does it look weird?"

"No, it's lovely." His low voice sends shivers up her spine. He reaches out to touch the soft curls at her neck, entwining a sunshine lock around his finger that brushes against her skin, and Alex's eyelids flutter close for a moment.

"Was paid for by the company, so I guess I can't complain." She offers a small smile. Batman leans in and captures it with his mouth; a smile of his own presses to her, like she's amused him with a brilliant joke.

He kisses her forever, like it's his last, and amidst the cocoon of blissful sensation wrapped around her, there's a wisp of something else as well. When he finally pulls back, any humour that might have been in his eyes has been replaced by an unreadable look.

"I've got good and bad news." He tells her simply. "Which do you want first?"

She's floored. "Um... bad?" Alex cringes, not ready for this change of direction.

"Yakavetta's escaped from custody." Her face falls, dread welling up to consume her once more. "But," Batman continues hastily, "the good news is that they've left town. Maroni's booted all of them for failing the coke drop and they're not coming back."

She doesn't know what to say. "Oh." Somewhere at the back of her mind she knows this is what she's been wanting to hear. She should be elated, freed at last of the mob's oppressive plague over her and her family.

But she can only feel a sense of relief. Joy eludes her.

"They're gone? For good?"

He nods.

And then she _gets_ it. Oh God, she gets it now. _Batman is leaving_. With her out of danger, he has no reason to stay. He has a city to watch over, a city that needs his attention more than she does. More than she deserves. "Wait!" Alex gasps. "Does this mean... Will I see you ever again?"

"Let's hope you don't have to," he tries for a joke but it falls flat on both of them.

"You won't visit?" She knows she sounds like she's pleading now, and it's pathetic, but it's all she can do. There's no dignity in heartbreak.

He hesitates. "I'll try. But it won't be safe for you."

"I don't care!"

"I do." He says softly. She looks away. Her eyes are starting to sting and she can't bear to look at him, not like this.

She had been so happy only two days ago -- hadn't a clue how things were going to work out, being as odd as they were -- but she didn't imagine they'd go downhill this soon. They'd barely started. _Should have known better_.

"Alex." He cups a downcast cheek and tilts her face up. He's blurry under a film of tears, which makes it easier for her to not have to focus on him. "I'm sorry I can't be... what you're after." She senses him closing the distance between them but she ducks her head again; too pained. He settles for laying a feather-light kiss on her forehead and then cold air rushes to her.

When he's gone she realises, in a way, that he had left the worst news 'til last, after all.

* * *

A/N: Alas, it's kind of short. Took forever to write, though :/

For those of you who are concerned -- no those goons don't give up so easily. They'll be back...


	9. Chapter 9

_Batman__ (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies. But there will be _no crossovers_.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 9

There's a crystal decanter of cognac sitting on the polished counter that she ignores as she sifts through the stack of filing work inside Bruce Wayne's office. As tempting as it was (because she could really use a drink), sneaking sips of the boss's minibar collection while he was out was very much up there on the list of _things to do if you're looking to get fired_. Even if the bar was mostly for decoration -- she'd never seen Wayne so much as touch it. Alex ignores the spectacular harbour views as well, but the reason for that was it had gotten old in the first week, and focuses pointedly on the task at hand: collating papers spread out on the rosewood surface and slotting them into their respective files. She places the Lau Securities Investments folder back on the shelf beside her and pulls out another. The monotony holds its own sort of comfort, so she doesn't have to think. Doesn't _want_ to think.

Life had returned to its mundane cycle. No one was out to get her, no one broke into her home, and no one made her feel truly alive. Funny, how she'd never missed it before.

She looks up for the next file, frowning when she locates it on the very top shelf. Rising onto her tiptoes, she still can't reach it, her fingers just brushing the base of the folder. Alex purses her lips in determination and strains a second time, still only barely finding purchase on the slippery plastic, when another hand extends casually from behind her and picks it out with ease.

Her back bumps into the man as she spins around clumsily in surprise; Wayne's looking down at her with an amused smirk as he offers her the file. Why hadn't she heard him come in? She must have been too lost in her thoughts. Unnerved, she smooths down the front of her blouse that has hitched up slightly in her stretch.

"Thank you, Mr Wayne. I'll be out of your hair in a second," she moves to gather up the documents.

"It's OK, you don't have to leave."

She pauses, uncertain. He seems to know she's daunted about being in his office while he's there; it always felt like she was intruding somehow. Then again, it would be far more convenient to be able to finish up the filing...

"I don't bite," he adds with a playful lift of an eyebrow, still wearing that annoying grin. As if that was supposed to help sway her decision.

"I'll only take a couple more minutes," she relents, and dives back into her work. She can't hear him behind her while she organises the files, and skittishly glances over her shoulder to see if he isn't still standing there watching her, because she hated being watched while working. As it turns out, he is on the other side of the room, poring over some report. Was it just the super plush carpeting or did he move around like a ghost?

It wouldn't be the first time she thought an employer of hers was strange, but this wasn't strange in the same way the Headmaster at St Patrick's had his OCD habits, or how the partner at Pierce & Pierce had a S&M kink. Bruce Wayne was the kind of strange she couldn't even put a finger on, and she'd had her fair share of studying behavioural sciences to become adept at gauging people. He wasn't as airheaded as she thought he'd be, for one. Still a shameless flirt, and still a narcissist, who loved to flash around his wealth and stature. But she found it baffling how the one man could be such an arrogant, uncaring egomaniac, and at the same time so impossible to read. Like he wasn't entirely... himself.

Putting away the last of the files, she dusts her hands off and proceeds to leave the office.

"Alexandra?" He looks up from his report. She stops just short of the door. "Would you like to accompany me to dinner tonight? That is, if you're not doing anything." His expression is completely calm, as though asking secretaries to dinner was an everyday thing (and maybe it was, for him), in stark contrast to the wide, astonished gape on her face.

She gulps. "Uh... um, I..."

He goes on, "You seemed kind of down this past week; thought you could use a bit of a night out."

Bruce Wayne, actually thinking of others? She feels like asking him _who are you and what have you done with my employer?_ but doesn't think that'd impress him much. She flusters. "I... I don't know, Mr Wayne --"

His smile broadens, cajoling, pulling out all the stops. "Come on, it'll only be a couple of hours. Just a casual dinner. You haven't sampled all the restaurants in Gotham yet, have you?"

In the face of his insistence, she doesn't have any decent excuse. "Um, well... I guess it couldn't hurt." Still felt awkward, though. It's a Friday and she would have thought he'd be booked out with partying and frivolity.

"Great." He sets aside his report and picks up a notepad from his desk. "I'll pick you up at seven-thirty?"

She blinks at him, still not entirely sure what she's gotten herself into. "Yeah, that's fine."

He looks at her for a moment, waiting, and she wonders if she's done something wrong. He chuckles. "You going to tell me your address? Or are you going to force me to dig it out of Evelyn the Dragon?"

"Oh!" She blushes. She gives him the details which he jots down. It's not a well-off neighbourhood she lives in, but he makes no reaction.

"Been to Barcadia?"

She shakes her head.

"It's a nice place. Low key. No need to get dressed up. Well, unless you want to. You're welcome to." He flashes a lopsided grin. Slipping the note into his breast pocket, he picks up his report again and walks to her, opening the office door. "I've gotta catch Lucius before three. I'll see you later."

Alex steps out of the office after him and returns to her desk.

"You're looking rather dazed, Alex."

"Hmm?" She glances to her right to see Jessica approaching.

"Dazed. I just saw you and Mr Wayne walking out of his office, and you're sitting here like you've been hit by a semi-trailer. What happened?" Jessica perches herself on the edge of the desk.

She _does_ feel like she's been hit by a semi-trailer. "Mr Wayne asked me to dinner."

"No kidding?" Jessica beams animatedly, brown eyes lighting up. "Way to go, hon!"

Alex shakes her head in bewilderment. "What do you mean? I didn't ask for this." Did her colleague seem to think she _aspired_ to this course of events?

Jessica only waves a hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter. How many girls do you think get the privilege of having been on a date with the Prince of Gotham?"

"Half the women in this city?" Alex answers dubiously. "Besides, it's not a date, just dinner."

"If you say so," the other woman teases. "As long as you enjoy yourself, it's all pretty much the same thing."

--+--

The apartment buzzer goes off while she's still fitting on the belt to her dress and she frowns at her clock to see that it's just past seven-thirty. He's uncharacteristically early.

"Hello?" She stumbles out to the intercom, pulling on a pair of heels at the same time.

"Alexandra? It's Bruce. I'm just outside."

"OK, I'll be right down." She disconnects and then hurries back to the bedroom to collect her jacket and handbag. Her train had been delayed on the way home, giving her only half an hour to prepare for stepping out into the city again. In that time she'd recalled Wayne's comment on the dress code and worried over what it meant: reassuring her not to go to unnecessary lengths, or was it merely relative to his standards? Alex had no desire to go all out on the evening dresses (and nor did she have many) but settled for a simple black-and-white number that was more daywear but would suffice, lest she get sacked for tawdry grooming.

As she steps out of the elevator into the ground level lobby, Alex has to double-take at the sight of Bruce Wayne beyond the glass doors, leaning against his Lamborghini. The supercar cuts a sleek silhouette of gunmetal grey along the sidewalk and Wayne is sharply dressed as usual -- both so out of place in this district. They garner plenty of inquisitive gawks from passersby but Wayne appears oblivious, head turned to the side and gazing up the road.

He faces her when she's pushing through the glass door of the building and greets her with a lazy smile. She thinks she sees his eyes sweep appreciatively over her, setting her mind at ease at least about her apparel, but he doesn't say anything.

"Ready?" Is all that passes his lips as he slides up the scissor door on the passenger side and gives her a hand while she climbs into the low seat. He rounds the front and enters his side with practised ease.

On ignition, the engine comes to life like a rolling thunder and her head jerks back to hit the headrest as the Murcielago shoots off down the street. He runs three yellow lights in succession without batting an eyelid, weaving fluidly in and out of lanes to stay in motion. It's a typical thrill-seeking pursuit for Wayne, but it's one she doesn't mind, oddly enough. She's not averse to speed. And maybe it's because it reminds her of the fleeting time she spent in Batman's car (or tank, to be more accurate).

"Do you like Tchaikovsky?" He asks out of the blue.

She glances up at him, wondering what prompted the question, but he's facing the road. "I like some of his work."

"Interested in watching Swan Lake when the Moscow Ballet hits town next week?"

_This just gets weirder and weirder_. She's lost for words for a minute. "Thank you for the offer, Mr Wayne, but I... um, I don't think I'm the sort of person who could fully appreciate the ballet..."

"You _can_ call me Bruce, you know."

"Sorry. Bruce." The word feels strange coming from her lips as a form of address; something foreign. "Force of habit, I guess. Everyone calls you Mr Wayne."

He chuckles. "At work, perhaps. But we're not at work, are we." His voice dips into something husky and it triggers an involuntary shiver from her, though she doesn't know why.

Slighly perturbed, she merely nods. "I'll try to remember."

"Well, if you change your mind about Swan Lake at any time, tell me. Otherwise, I'll probably end up giving the tickets to Alfred." A look of amusement flits across his face but whatever it was, he keeps it to himself.

As the car turns into a side street, Alex notices the block hosts a string of small, eclectic restaurants clustered like terrace houses, and she peers out the side window in fascination when they cruise past. Wayne is no longer hammering the gas pedal, which she deduces meant they were about to stop at one of these eateries. She finally spots the Barcadia signage ahead, over a traditional Greek styled facade to which the car nears, rolling up onto an open driveway where a valet comes to receive them.

Inside, the decor is tasteful and classic, hued in shades of white and cream with high archways and pillars traced in vines of ivy. Her eyes pan over the sophisticated patrons and her worry returns that she's underdressed, she doesn't fit in, and stands out as a tacky Eliza Doolittle masquerading as refined gentry. She has a horrible urge to turn back but Wayne takes her elbow at that moment and guides her to their table by the bay windows. Other than that, he makes no contact with her which is a relief, because she'd been apprehensive he might start to behave in ways to suggest a romantic interest.

"You don't seem too thrilled," Bruce Wayne comments lightly across the table from her. His eyes seem almost concerned, but she must be mistaken in this dim lighting; he's probably more annoyed that she's boring and quiet.

"When you said this place was low key, I guess I had a different sort of low key in mind," she smiles back wanly.

He glances out at the other tables. "You're dressed fine. Really, it doesn't matter."

She drops her gaze to the menu and flips through it idly, noting all the exorbitant prices and extensive dish names that were more of a mouthful than what they actually served. She suppresses a sigh. She knew it was a dumb idea to agree to this and her lack of foresight meant she was paying for it now in awkward silence and a no doubt strained future with her boss. What was she thinking? This wasn't her scene and she couldn't stand the man in front of her.

She stops herself when it occurs to her that she isn't hating Bruce Wayne's company as much as she expected to. He's been nice to her, hasn't hit on her once, hasn't done anything obnoxious or condescending that was usually part of his repertoire. She looks up at him again and he's watching her.

"Are you ready to order?" He smiles.

She nods and a waiter appears immediately, from wherever he'd been hiding behind a pillar or such. He brings them a bottle of chardonnay at Wayne's request and Alex gulps down half her glass in her first take; she needs the numbing blanket of haze to get this over with while keeping her nerves intact.

Her boss eyes her with an amused grin. "Didn't know you were a drinker."

"I'm Irish, Mr Wayne, I can drink you under the table," she quips back with calm confidence, more at ease already with that bubbly warmth in her system.

He laughs and she finds herself grinning faintly along with him. She decides she should come to work every morning not with a cup of coffee but with a glass of wine if it made Wayne this tolerable. Drunk on the job? Occupational necessity.

When their meal arrives, their conversation is in full swing -- a little inane, but at least it isn't stilted. He regales her with stories of his adventures during his seven year absence from Gotham, diluted to about ten percent veracity, while she fills him in on the inner workings of Catholic schools.

As he polishes off the red snapper he'd ordered, Wayne picks up his glass and half waves it in mid-air, posing a deep and meaningful. "So did you always want to be a teacher? Or have you got a tragic tale to share of failed childhood hopes and dreams?" His satirical smile emerges beneath half-hooded eyes.

"Don't we all? I wanted to be a doctor, in my misguided youth." She laughs. "That didn't work out when I realised I couldn't handle the sight of blood or having to work with contagious infections. What about you?"

He leans back in his chair. "Believe it or not, being a billionaire socialite wasn't really on the agenda. I dreamt being a Formula One driver."

"What's wrong with that? It's totally disease-free," she chortles.

"Yeah, just wasn't cut out for it. Besides, the last time an American won the championship was in '78, so... doing what I do now is an easier road to fame, you know?"

More laughter bursts out from them both, attracting several glances from nearby tables. Alex notices there's one particular woman at a booth in the corner, dining with two other female friends, who has been sending censorious daggers her way all night. Great, she's drawn the ire of some girl who mistakenly thinks she's dating Wayne, and now she's probably going to get lynched.

They finish dessert soon enough (and the rest of the chardonnay) and Wayne refuses to show her the bill, only divulging humorously that it's "reasonable". It's his treat, she's aware, one he seems happy and more than capable to give, but she's still never all that comfortable with it. She's more thankful that he's been true to his word and gave her a night out to take her mind off... everything else. They're walking to the door when his phone rings, and he pulls it out of his pocket with a frown at the display.

"Excuse me, please," he tells her as he walks away a bit to take the call in private.

She contentedly occupies herself with studying the artworks on the wall, when a snide voice from her back reaches her ears.

"So you're the new flavour of the week."

Alex turns around in confusion to see Ms Angry Jilted Lover or Fangirl from the booth earlier, glaring her down with a snooty air from her loftier position on towering stilettos.

"Can't see why he'd drop me for someone like _you_." She tosses her long copper tresses in disdain and folds her arms, practically spitting with vitriol.

In spite of herself, Alex scowls back, irritated that this stranger didn't know what she was talking about and was launching into an unfounded, petty attack. "Maybe 'cause you sound like an eight-year-old when you speak? I'm not --"

"Bianca." Both heads turn to see Wayne nearing them, a civil smile painted on him as he regards the redhead coolly. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Bruce!" The woman exclaims in surprise that he's back so quickly and flusters for a second. Now it dawns on Alex: Bianca Middleton, who was seeing Bruce Wayne only last Thursday. Bianca Middleton, whom he'd bailed on for their second date. "I was just speaking with your friend -- um..."

"I'm sure you were." His tone doesn't change but no one holds any illusions that he believes her. His hand comes to rest firmly around Alex's waist, somewhat defensively, stepping between her and Bianca. Surely, he recognises the deliberate impression that gesture makes? "We were just about to leave. Enjoy the rest of your evening." He steers Alex to the front door and they depart a fuming Ms Middleton whose face was as flushed as her hair.

In the car, Wayne clears his throat. "Sorry about that."

"It's nothing." She isn't at all hurt, really, not by something as trivial as that. "Though you _do_ pick some catty girlfriends."

"She's hardly a girlfriend," Wayne scoffs with a frown. Alex doesn't press it.

The drive home is punctuated by 1812 Overture piping through the stereo and idle conversation, both of them more subdued now that things were winding to a close. It's ten when he drops her off outside her apartment and she stands on the curb, hesitantly. Leaning down to the window, she gives him a final smile.

"Thank you, Bruce."

He grins to hear her using his first name, and waves a hand. "Pleasure's all mine." He waits until she's safely inside the main doors of the building before taking off.

Alex still has phantom remnants of music playing in her ears when she unlocks her door and walks in, that she almost doesn't hear the phone ringing. Who could possibly be calling her this late? As she reaches the machine, the display tells her there have been seven missed calls, all from an unknown dialer.

"Hello?" She answers warily.

"Hello, princess," the voice on the other end makes her blood freeze. "You didn't think this was over, did ya?"

She jumps and peers around the room, heart pounding. God, she doesn't want there to be yet another break in. "Where are you?"

Robert cackles. "Relax, I'm still in Boston," he feigns innocence. "Can't hurt ya."

"Then what do you want?"

"C'mon, baby, you know what I want. Why don't you come home, pay us a little visit? I know a friend of yours who's just _dyin'_ to see ya." His sinister voice trails off as she hears the sound of a door open and horrific screams come through.

Alex gasps and reaches out to the wall to steady her suddenly weak frame. Oh, _Christ_. He has an old friend of hers, a colleague from St Patrick's, and god knows what he's doing to that poor girl. Alex's shaking hands are barely able to hold onto the phone as more tortured shrieks and crying are heard.

"It's... Natalya, isn't it?" Robert returns. "Pretty chick, such a waste..."

"Let her go, you fucking monster," she chokes, her voice just clearing above a whisper.

"Tell me somethin' I don't know." He growls, altogether dropping the false charms. "Be in Boston by midnight tomorrow with four grand, or the last you'll see of your friend will be what's left of her in the river." The line clicks dead.

* * *

A/N: For those of you who thought there hasn't been enough on Bruce Wayne and his cushy billionaire lifestyle, hope this makes up for it :D

Thank you all for the lovely reviews! I read them with a smile on my face that rivals the Joker's -- true fact. Hope you enjoyed this extra long instalment! Feedback is very welcome.


	10. Chapter 10

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies. But there will be _no crossovers_.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 10

It hasn't been five minutes since he left the Batcave for his nightly patrol when he sees the signal cast out in the sky. It's a hazy patch of light hanging in the clouds over the empty stretch of highway he's on, a beacon from Gordon, and Bruce wonders what's the new emergency.

From the edge of an adjacent building, he swoops down onto the GCPD rooftop -- and sees Alex there. She's pacing restlessly and looks exceedingly pale, like she's sick, and her eyes have been reddened by tears. _What happened?_ He was only with her a short time ago. Gordon stands by her on watch, presumably her means of getting up here, and his face is grim.

"Alex."

She whirls around to him as he steps out of the shadows, and in that moment, breaks down. Her face is in her hands as her sobs begin anew; tentatively, he goes to put his arms around her, cradling her against him. He gives Gordon a look, knowing the other man is watching on with his sharp, silent understanding of things, and the Lieutenant merely nods his head. He reaches out to switch off the signal and then shoves his hands into his pockets.

"She came in about half an hour ago wanting to know how to contact you," Gordon says. "She's lucky I'm on a late shift tonight. Tells me the bastards from Boston are threatening her to go back; they're holding one of her friends hostage, and... doing horrible things to her."

Bruce looks down at Alex in alarm; he can't imagine worse news.

"She doesn't deserve this," Alex whispers brokenly, shaking her head. "Now she's dragged into this mess because of me."

"You can't blame yourself like that."

"How can I not?" She implores, fixing him with those greenest of green eyes. "None of this would have happened if I'd just stayed put. If I don't get to Boston by midnight tomorrow, they're going to kill her."

"There's no way you're going alone," both Gordon and he interject simultaneously. Bruce glances at the older man. "Gordon, what are your options?"

"Don't have many, I'm afraid. The most I can do is notify Boston Police. It's not my jurisdiction."

Bruce nods; he expected as much. He doesn't have much experience dealing with Boston cops, but he hopes they won't interfere with him too much. They have their own vigilantes to worry about and he isn't sure how they would react to getting a new one.

"There's also the money, isn't there?" Gordon prompts.

Alex reluctantly continues. "They want me to bring four thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of money... but if I could just take out a loan and have Lieutenant Gordon vouch for me, they might --"

"Don't bother with that, I've got you covered." Bruce murmurs. She looks up at him in part surprise and part confusion. He says again more firmly, "I'll get you the money."

"What? No, no, I can't accept _that_," she protests. "There's no need for you to --"

"It's really not a problem," he hushes her with his gruff voice and places a finger gently to her lips. "Besides, I plan to get it back."

A throat clears some feet away and they turn to see Gordon standing a little awkwardly by the rooftop exit. "I'll leave you two to sort things out," he says prudently. "I'll put the call through to Boston and, uh, you know where to find me if you need me." The door closes after him and they're left alone under the black sky.

Bruce lets out an internal sigh. He'd been so careful all night not to raise anything that would trigger Alex to think of Batman or the Yakavettas, and now _this_ happens. "We'll get her out of there." He tries to console her.

She doesn't answer. She extricates herself from his arms and walks slowly to the edge of the roof, leaning her elbows on the waist-high barrier wall. The wind picks up ribbons of pale hair and sweeps them to one side of her face as she gazes out into the night: the cold, hard buildings that rise into inky darkness above, and the dirty, sinister streets below playing Mr Hyde to how they appeared during the day. The collar of her jacket flaps in the breeze and he almost doesn't hear her soft words.

"I cut myself off from everyone I knew," she murmurs, barely audible. "Gave them no warning. Changed my phone number. Ignored their emails. Pretended I was dead to the world."

He keeps his distance to let her air her thoughts, even if his instincts scream to him otherwise.

"Didn't accomplish much in the end." She twists a bittersweet smile to herself. "I thought I could spare them all this, if no one knew where I was. Even Bruce Wayne managed to disappear for seven years."

_That was different_, he wants to say. No one was hunting him. "It was out of your control." He counters. She half turns back to face him, her pained eyes still disbelieving. "They found you by chance, when they came to work with Maroni, not because of anything you did."

"I picked the worst city to move to, didn't I?"

She's right, of course, but the selfish side of him holds onto the thought that Gotham brought her to him. "Or maybe not."

Her eyes soften even while her countenance remains sombre. It's no silver lining, meeting someone new at the expense of your friends' lives, and he can sense she'd rather take things back, undo it all, if given the chance. He wouldn't blame her.

He extends a hand. "Come on. Let's get you home."

--+--

Her hands are shaking when she presents her boarding pass to the airline worker at the gate. She's going to Boston. She's going through with this.

The woman taking her ticket looks at Alex intently, sensing her trepidation, and Alex shies her eyes away under the scrutiny. Brilliant, now she was going to get outed for a terrorist.

"Is everything alright, Miss?" The uniformed worker presses in an overly saccharine voice.

"Yeah -- um, I'm fine, thanks... uh, I've just got a fear of flying." She makes up lamely. She's then blinded by a commercial-grade practised smile.

"Well, I can assure you our airline is number one in the country on safety! We employ the best pilots and engineers in the industry and keep a very diligent maintenance record." With her animated face, the woman almost looks like she believes her own spiel. "Your flight takes just over an hour so it will be over before you know it. And don't forget, there's a paper bag behind every seat, if you ever feel the need for it," she adds in a knowing whisper.

Alex merely nods and is only too happy to get away from the customer service winner of the year, walking down the bridging ramp onto the plane and huddling herself into her seat. The 7:02 PM is the second last flight for the day to Boston, which gives her about four hours to settle back into the city before facing up to the gang.

She takes a deep breath as the jet engines fire and the plane begins to roll up the runway. An hour to go before she gets... _home_. In a sense. It's the home she doesn't really want to go back to, even though the place holds some of her best memories. At the same time, it's too painful to stay.

Her eyes turn to the window for distraction just as the aircraft wheels lift off the ground. She loves that moment of suspension: a split second of falling, right between the loss of solid support underneath and getting carried upward on sheer force of air. It's dark outside but there's a sliver of orange that still clings to the horizon, slanting away from view as they ascend, then reappearing at a tilt. Behind her, Alex hears someone hyperventilating into a bag.

They soon touch down at Logan Airport without incident and she hurries out to the cab rank to catch a ride to the Club Quarters Hotel. She climbs into the back seat, throwing her duffel in beside her, and takes in the familiar sights along the way.

"You been to Boston before?" The driver asks, making idle conversation.

Her response is noncommittal. "Yeah."

"So, are you here for business?"

"Something like that."

They travel in silence. But she leaves him a sizeable tip to make up for her iciness. She's generous today like maybe karma is real after all and she could use any help she could get.

Finally checking in to her room, Alex swipes the card at the door and steps cautiously inside. The windows are closed, but a black bag sits conspicuously in the middle of the bed.

"Batman?" She whispers.

A soft rustle of fabric answers within a dark corner and she can make out his suited silhouette, black against black.

"That's your money," he says with a nod to the bag.

"Um, thank you." It was a good thing he brought it, because she didn't trust herself to carry around that amount of cash without getting mugged somehow. "How was sightseeing today?" She asks.

He moves into the small ring of light offered by the wall lamp. "I found where they're holding your friend."

"How is she?" Alex blurts, concern furrowing her brows. He's quiet for a moment and she dreads whatever's about to come out.

"Bad." His voice is gentler but his jaw is set like stone, belying just _how_ bad it really was. "She's heavily bruised and cut up; I think one of her arm's broken as well."

_Christ_. She squeezes her eyes shut, feeling sick at the confirmation. Her heart goes out to Nat; the girl was younger than she was, only joining the school a year ago as a Languages teacher but growing almost instantly attached to Alex like to an older sister. The girl was entirely innocent.

And Nat must hate her for this, now.

A pair of hands come to rest firmly on her shoulders and Alex lifts her eyes up to him. "You can do this." His low voice soothes over her. "Natalya needs your help."

She evens her breathing and tries to swallow past the bitterness of guilt eating at her. "I know." He lets go of her and she wipes her palms against her jeans. "Where are they staying?"

"A rundown block in South Boston. Natalya's holed up in the basement."

He produces some photos of the area but she doesn't need to see them. This is the business headquarters of the Yakavetta family when they're not at the mansion; all the dirty work gets done here. It wouldn't be the first time she's been in.

By the time they finish going through the plan again, it's half past ten. "Meet you in the alley outside," is the last thing Batman says as he pushes open a window and drops from it. Heart suddenly racing, she rushes to the window and looks down: his cape has spread open, allowing him to glide to the Tumbler he'd brought with him. In relief, Alex lets out the breath she'd been holding. She can mentally hear him chiding her with a smile, for having feared he'd hurt himself -- he was _Batman_, he had no limits -- but she recognises a part of her will always worry. The part of her that never forgets he's still a man under the mask.

She joins him, after exiting the hotel by the front door, and climbs into the Tumbler's passenger side. It's as uncomfortable as she remembered.

He parks a few blocks away from their destination and tells her to stay in the car while he scouts the place. She goggles at all the controls and switches that line the interior, wanting to find out if there's at least a radio, but too afraid to touch anything. Bored and anxious at the same time, she feels like a boiler about to go off.

Then the roof of the vehicle slides open with a hiss, and Alex jerks in alarm before realising Batman has returned.

"Five men, two more in the basement."

_It's OK_, she reminds herself as she steps into the cold night air. They can handle seven; they'd prepared for more. Still, terror sticks to her and she clutches the bag of cash tighter in her hand while she begins walking down. This was going to be the hardest part -- the entry. She had to go solo, and everything depended on how the variables fell in place.

"I'll be watching you every step of the way."

His voice reaches her ears but when she turns back, he's nowhere to be seen. Steeling her resolve, Alex continues walking. The streets in this part of town are deserted at this hour. It's a mostly industrial zone with a scattering of commercial buildings here and there, like the one the Yakavettas run.

The old office block comes into view soon enough -- peeling brown paint and cracked walls reveal themselves under stark lamplight, and a little path leads into a courtyard. Not much has changed.

With still not a soul in sight, even though she's sure she's being watched by someone other than Batman, she hesitantly makes her way inside. She checks her watch. It's a quarter to twelve and she stands in the middle of the courtyard under the waning moon, surrounded by brick and darkened doorways. She waits.

* * *

A/N: With regard to the flight times, I'm pretending Gotham is somewhere near NYC which is what it's often been compared to. Also, apologies to any Bostonians if I've gotten the details of their city wrong! Everything I know is off the internet.


	11. Chapter 11

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies. But there will be _no crossovers_.  
Warning: Coarse language ahead.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 11

He's three storeys up but he can almost hear the shaky breath that passes on her lips while she stands in the silent courtyard. Around her are four doors, shadowed by awning panels, and behind each door, Bruce's sonar visors (a novel addition to the suit, courtesy of Lucius Fox) pick out the five mafiosi ready to pounce. Two of them are in one room -- the room facing the street where they had been able to spy on Alex approaching.

In a minute, the five emerge. Robert Yakavetta is among them, sauntering toward Alex with a smug sneer on his face.

"Well, well, well," he announces in a lilting voice. "And I thought you weren't gonna make it."

Alex holds her ground, fists clenching as she fights her urge to flee. "So let her go," she bites out.

Tossing his head back, Yakavetta lets loose a grotesque cackle. "Who said anything 'bout lettin' her go? I only told ya she wasn't gonna be dead... yet." His lips curl arrogantly, as though he'd devised the smartest plot ever conceived in the history of criminal endeavours. "But now we've gotcha right where we want ya. You brought the dough?" He snatches the bag out of her hands, tearing it open eagerly to reveal banded wads of cash. "Very good," he purrs, then grabs her roughly by the nape of the neck and pulls her to one of the doorways.

"Hey!" She struggles, trying to pry open his digits, "Get your filthy paws off me!"

Bruce tenses but stays put on the roof. He can't jeopardise this. He holds back until the other mobsters move in to follow the two, and then descends on them like a black dart.

"What the --"

Batman disarms two of them in the blink of an eye and dodges a fist from the third guy. But Robert has seen him now, and he runs. With Alex in tow, the girl half stumbling and her balance off-centre, he dives into the building and retreats for reinforcements in the basement. Batman punches out the last of the guys above ground and sprints in after them.

"Don't move," Robert calls to him just as Bruce rounds the stairwell down to find Alex held at gunpoint. The two other guards aim the barrels of their pistols at him, and Bruce is stuck in a quandary. "You're pretty persistent, aren't ya?" Yakavetta snarls, aggravation clearly written on his face at having his plans repeatedly foiled by the Bat.

"So are you." Bruce rasped. "Leave her alone and you won't have to hear from me."

"Not gonna happen." Robert gave his defiant refusal. "Reilly here got into the mob and she ain't walkin' out of it just like that."

"I never wanted anything to do with you lot!" Alex snaps at her captor.

"Your pa did," Yakavetta retorts with equal loathing. "And he tried to rat on Uncle Joe! We shoulda killed your whole miserable family after that, if not for the fact your ma was still able to pay up."

Bruce has never seen Alex this enraged, fury literally boiling in her eyes and her body quietly tense. "When I get out of this, I'm going to skin you alive." The resolve in her voice was truer than the night was dark.

"You and what army?" Yakavetta snarks back haughtily. His eyes suddenly widen and everything falls into a freeze frame.

Bruce hears it too. Sirens.

"You _didn't_." Robert growls low in his throat. He switches between scowling at Alex and scowling at Batman, but both keep their lips sealed. "You're gonna pay for that," he directs at the girl facing his gun, but doesn't move to shoot her -- not with the cops coming down on them this minute; it would be too easy for them to lay a murder charge on him. Instead, he pushes her in front and hurries to another exit from the basement. His goons follow suit, walking backwards with their guns still trained on Batman until they make it out of the other doorway.

Bruce spares a second to look at the heavy steel door that was set into one side of the room: the door the two men had been guarding. He raps against the metal. "Natalya?"

"Help me, please!" A weak voice responds plaintively and a painful cough wracks the speaker's chest, cutting off further cries. Most likely due to fractured ribs. Bruce wants to free her, but he simply cannot ignore the urgency of Yakavetta being on the run, with Alex's life at extreme risk. Natalya was in no immediate harm as long as the mobsters weren't in the basement.

"Help is coming, hang in there," he says, then takes off.

--+--

"Stop! Police!"

Alex welcomes the sound of police footsteps chasing them through the building but Yakavetta evidently doesn't, shoving her to run faster. The man is surprisingly agile for his stocky frame, yanking her left and right through the corridors as he navigates a path to freedom, while the ever-present muzzle digs coldly into her spine. The other two had split when they first encountered the cops, forcing the police officers to divide their pursuit team as well.

"I said, stop! Drop the weapon!" An authoritative voice booms. They were closer, hot on their tails.

The pressure on her back disappears for a moment as Yakavetta fires a shot at the cops with a grunt. Alex's legs now pick up speed, hoping to get away from him.

"Drop the weapon!" Policeman yells again. "Drop it or we'll shoot!"

Robert disregards the warning, obstinate as he was, and throws back more rounds. Somebody cries out in pain, one bullet having found its mark, but the other cop returns fire instantly. Alex has just turned a corner when something hot hits her side.

She gasps and falls over, catching a glimpse of thick, bloody slashes staining her sweater. She expects to feel a burning pain any second, but none comes, and that's when she realises Robert Yakavetta has dropped to the floor behind her. Alex presses a hand to her side but feels no injury, even as her fingers pull away sticky with blood. It's not hers.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" The officer runs over to her, panting for breath. She looks up at him, dazed. He reaches down and peels up the bottom of her blood-soaked sweater, checking to see that her skin is in fact unmarred, and then turns his attention to the culprit.

Yakavetta lies face down with his limbs sprawled, unmoving. The policeman kicks the gun out of his hand and cautiously turns him over.

The exit wound in his chest makes the situation very clear.

Alex stares at the still form of her tormentor, unable to believe her eyes. She's filled by a whirlwind of emotions, but most prominent among them is relief. Overwhelming, weight-of-the-world-lifting _relief_. The cop lays two fingers against the side of Yakavetta's neck for confirmation, and then relays something into his radio. It's all a buzz to Alex.

"Ma'am? You with me?" The cop crouches in front of her. She blinks and focuses on him at last.

"Yes?"

"Are you the girl who's been reported missing? Natalya Milicevic?"

Alex shakes her head. "No. She's still down there!" She clambers up to her feet and starts to lead the way back. They pass the second cop who is slouched against the wall, pressing a hand against his shoulder to stem the blood flow.

"Is he dead?" The injured man winces as he nods in the direction of Yakavetta's body.

"Yeah. You hit bad?"

He tries to effect an air of nonchalance but only manages a grimace. "It's only a flesh wound," he grits out.

"You'll be OK, buddy. Paramedics are on their way," the unharmed officer reassures. "I'm going to get the missing girl. Lady here knows where she is."

They retrace their way back to the basement. It's thankfully empty, and Alex makes a beeline for the locked metal door.

"Nat? Nat, can you hear me?" Alex calls frantically.

"Allie! Oh my god, Allie, you're here!" The girl on the other side breaks down into sobs. Alex's eyelids close as she rests her forehead on the door; it was heartrending to hear her.

"Nat, the police are with me. We're going to get you out."

The cop touches her shoulder lightly and she moves out of the way. "Ma'am," he says to Natalya, "I need you to get as far away from the door as possible. I'm going to shoot the lock."

"OK." A dull shuffling noise comes from within. "I'm at the far end."

The officer proceeds to blast a hole in the key lock and then shoves his shoulder against the door. The lock wobbles and gives. Swinging open slowly, the door reveals an old walk-in freezer converted into a holding cell. The young woman inside sits timidly on the floor; she is unrecognisable.

Alex sucks in a hollow breath of air at the sight. Dark purple splotches track every inch of Natalya's skin, blooming over her face and swelling shut one of her eyes. Her legs are curled up in a defensive position, while one arm rests limply by her side.

_How could they have done this to her?_

"Oh Nat, I'm so sorry," Alex whispers helplessly as she ventures toward her friend. The cop has already begun checking her vitals and calling in for more medical assistance.

Natalya lifts her good eye, tears brimming at the corners, and tries to crack a smile from her bleeding lips. "Allie, thank god you found me."

Alex stays with her while the paramedics come down to carry her off in a stretcher. Outside is a flurry of activity: three police cars and an ambulance are parked along the street, and the unconscious gang men from the courtyard had been cuffed and taken away. Natalya is wheeled into the ambulance by a hovering cluster of paramedics and Alex stands by to not obstruct them. She takes the opportunity to scan the scene, hoping to see one last person emerge safely.

Soon enough, the rest of Yakavetta's guards are hauled out -- the ones who had split off in the chase. Still no sign of Batman. Alex runs up to the cops.

"Excuse me, officer," she says, "but did you see another man inside?"

"There's another one?" His face hardens, ready to go back in and tackle a thug.

"No, not one of the mob, a man in black."

A younger policeman cuts in. "I _thought_ I saw something..." They all turn to him. "He was ahead of us, knocked down one of the mob guys. At the time I just assumed the dope tripped himself over, but now --"

"So you're saying he's another one of those vigilantes?" The first officer remarks sardonically. "Christ, ever since those damn MacManus brothers, the streets have been full of wannabes running amok..." He trails off, muttering to himself about lunatics taking the law into their own hands.

Alex turns back to the second cop and asks, "Did you see what happened to him? The man in black?"

He shrugs. "Not really. He blended into the background; couldn't even tell there was a man to begin with."

It doesn't tell her what she wants to know, but she's in no position right now to investigate whether Batman made it out OK. Alex returns to the paramedic van feeling unresolved, but seeing Natalya again, swathed in bandages and connected to IV drips, took her mind back to worrying over the other girl's health.

Natalya's tearful and distraught parents are already at the hospital when they arrive in the emergency ward, and Mrs Milicevic wails fitfully a string of Bosnian at the sight of her daughter. Alex waits outside with them as well while Natalya receives treatment. She attempts conversation with the couple, but finds that their language difficulties inadvertently save her from having to explain too much. _Your daughter was kidnapped and beaten to within an inch of her life -- because of me_. Alex doesn't know how she'll ever be able to face up to it.

She excuses herself to go to the washroom, turns on the tap and splashes cold water on her face. Her reflection is pale and fatigued, almost ashen under the severe light. She looks down to the blood streaks on her blue sweater and feels revulsion climb her throat. Tugging at the edge of the fabric, she tries to wash as much of it as she can in the sink. It fades somewhat, but into a bigger patch.

"Oh, I give up," she grumbles under her breath and lets go of the material, planting her hands on the counter. The sweater falls back limp and wet against her shirt. She isn't going to wear these clothes ever again.

A breeze blows cool against the moisture on her face, and she lifts her head to the window. It's a small, high opening with frosted glass, and it has just been slid open by a gloved hand.

"Thank god," she exhales.

"Are you hurt?" Batman's eyes fix on the blood.

"No, it's not mine." Alex shakes her head. "Robert's dead."

The message sinks in. He continues to stare at her, silent. She can hear his cape whipping in the wind outside and isn't sure how he's managed to stick to the wall.

"Um, are you hurt?" She returns the question.

"Not much. There's one last thing that needs to be done. I'll find you back at the hotel." He shifts his balance and turns away.

"Wait, where are you going?" Alex rushes to the window.

"I'm going to take care of this once and for all."

_What?_ But he's already flying off into the darkness. "Be careful!" She whispers, the words dying on her lips. He was out of ear shot.

--+--

With an afternoon of rest behind him, Bruce rolls out of a king-sized bed, bleary-eyed and feeling no more refreshed than he did when he fell asleep, and prepares to don the batsuit again. He instantly laments the loss of silk sheets, having to get back into the uncomfortable gear, and makes a face at the bruises and sore spots that have reawakened.

He had booked this hotel under an alias on the other side of Boston, and was thankful that, for all the fame and gossip that surrounded Bruce Wayne in Gotham, he was unrecognised outside of it. Nonetheless, he's still bound to wearing his disguise when visiting Alex. It almost seems a waste of effort.

Bruce gets to Alex's hotel room well after dark but she hasn't returned. He reminds himself she would have had police interviews and was likely delayed, though it doesn't stop him from growing anxious. Not long later, however, the door opens and Alex steps in.

She's sniffling a little and her eyes are red-rimmed, but she manages a smile in greeting. "Hey."

"You've been crying." He notes with a frown.

"It's nothing," she waves him off. "I was just saying goodbye to Nat."

They are both flying out to Gotham early tomorrow morning -- Alex in economy class, Bruce in his private jet -- and even though she downplays it well, there's a hint of sorrow that never really leaves her eyes. He can guess a large part of her will always miss home. Same reason he couldn't stay away from Gotham.

"So where did you go last night?" She asks, brows furrowing lightly. "When you didn't come back, I thought... well, I... I thought the worst." She drops her gaze as pink warms her cheeks. He doesn't know what to say. His mouth parts, but she hastens to cover her moment of openness. "You know, plastered over the news: _Authorities Find Man Dressed as Bat, Throw Him into Padded Cell_."

A grin twitches at his lips and he pulls her into a hug. He's missed this contact more than he cares to admit. "I'm sorry." His whisper is muffled into her hair but she hears it all the same. "I dropped by the Yakavetta house. They won't bother you anymore."

She stares up at him, completely floored. "How...?"

As it turned out, getting the Yakavettas off her tail was easier than he expected. He broke into Antonio Yakavetta's bedroom at three in the morning, dragged the man out of bed and bound him to a chair. And they talked.

The young head of the family fought at first, belligerent like his cousin. Smarter, though.

_"Robert's dead." Bruce told him._

_"You cheap fuck." Antonio responded effortlessly._

_"Police bullet."_

_"So you're all cheap fucks. What are you here for?"_

Bruce obliged with an explanation, and it was at that point the antagonism shifted. Something cleared in Antonio's head.

_"Ah, Robbie. He never understood the meanin' of acceptable losses." Antonio leaned back in his chair, as much as the bonds allowed, almost in a relaxed fashion._

He went on to describe how Robert had his personal agenda, unable to let go of petty things that were more trouble than they were worth. And so it came to light that the family did not particularly concern itself with runaway extortion victims.

_"Not for some shitty one grand a month," Antonio sneered. "I have more important things to attend to."_

Bruce laid his threats anyway.

_"I get it, I get it," Antonio rolled his eyes. "Stay outta the girl's life, stay outta Gotham. It _was_ you who fucked up my coke deal, wasn't it?" He squinted at Bruce. "No matter. I shoulda known Robbie was shit at management too."_

All in all, Antonio was the most laidback mafia boss Bruce had ever encountered.

"You think we can trust him?" Alex asks uncertainly.

"No. But we don't need to." He has set up enough safeguards to deter the Yakavettas from remotely blighting Alex's path again. As she rests her head against his shoulder, she can finally take peace in the knowledge that his promise, given the first night he found her at the warehouse, has been fulfilled.

* * *

A/N: Whew! Big things finally out of the way. If some things don't seem realistic, then please forgive me, I tried to uh, dig myself out of the problem I created. :/ Story should hopefully be more relationship focused from hereon in. Thank you for sticking through all these chapters!


	12. Chapter 12

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies. But there will be _no crossovers_.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 12

The terminal is practically empty at half past seven, with a handful of zombie-faced commuters passing through checkout to go to work first thing on a Monday morning. Alex is one of them. Maybe not as zombie-faced as she'd like to hope; she's had six hours of sleep which should be enough to survive the day ahead. While she lines up at the only counter in service, her eyes wander over the scant crowd. She knows it's stupid but she stays on the lookout for someone who might possibly be Batman, on the very, very slim chance he was on the same flight back to Gotham. Six feet tall, muscular, clean shaven. She gets several glances in return from the men whose jaw lines she's been studying, and she averts her eyes with a furious blush. She doesn't want any of them to get the wrong idea. In any case, none of them seem to recognise her.

She stops by her apartment to drop off her travel bag and get changed before rushing out again. In her haste to reach the subway, Alex almost forgets to pick up her daily copy of the Gotham Times and backtracks a few steps to the newsstand outside the station. The front page of the paper catches her attention right away. _Where was Batman? Girl Brutally Slaughtered by Arkham Escapee_.

"Oh no," she breathes, frozen in place.

"Terrible, ain't it?" The newsstand owner remarks offhandedly. "Girl was at a bar with some friends on Saturday night, then gets nabbed by a psycho who likes carving 'em up. She was found in seven pieces the next day."

Alex just looks at him queasily. If she had eaten breakfast, it would be on the floor right now.

"Well, you gonna buy it or not?" The old man raises an eyebrow. She drops some coins into his outstretched palm and takes the paper. As she reads the story on the train, skipping over the gruesome details, she cringes with a mixture of guilt and indignation. She knows why Batman wasn't there to save that girl or catch the lunatic still on the run. But the way the journalist laid on the blame at Batman for apparently 'failing Gotham' was unfair and absurd.

Her brows are still furrowed when she gets off at Wayne Tower station -- her day hasn't yet started and she's in a bad mood already -- and she's a terse conversationalist in the elevator, sitting out of whatever mindless small talk the yuppies are engaged in. Finally, the carriage clears, giving her a moment of peace before her level comes up.

The girls at reception ignore her when she walks in; out of the ordinary behaviour for them, but today Alex couldn't care less. She dumps her handbag under her desk and hangs up her jacket, then heads straight for the coffee pot in the kitchenette.

"Is it going to be one of those days, Alex?" Jessica glances over her shoulder with an amused expression as she lifts a crumpet out of the toaster.

"It is." Alex affirms. She didn't normally take a coffee until eleven.

"Need to get it off your chest? Wouldn't have anything to do with that dinner with Mr Wayne the other day, would it?" Jessica probes gently.

"What?" She'd forgotten all about that. Friday felt like a month ago. "No, it's not that. That was... surprisingly not too weird, actually."

"Really?" The other woman grins. "Could our Alex be warming up to the airheaded playboy? Wonders never cease!"

Alex rolls her eyes but manages a good-humoured smile. "Warming up's a big overstatement. Have you seen the news this morning? That is what's bugging me, to be honest."

"About Batman?"

Alex nods.

"Serious? You too?" Jessica pushes aside her plate of breakfast and leans back against the counter, regarding Alex with wide eyes. "Lucius came in this morning going on about the hacks at Gotham Times, writing sensationalist garbage, and that's a big deal for him 'cause he never rants about anything. I mean, I read the story too, but I didn't realise people got so passionate over this sort of thing."

"Is that what the city truly thinks? Or just the views of one writer?"

Jessica shrugs. "I don't know, I haven't asked around."

They're interrupted by one of the girls from the lobby coming in for a can of diet Coke. She throws a snooty look in Alex's direction and then walks away without speaking to either of them.

_What on earth is going on?_ "Hey," Alex asks, "do you know what's up with the reception girls? Did I miss out on a memo or something?"

"Oh, about that..." Jessica wrings her hands together sheepishly. "You know how they're ultra protective of their prince? I kind of, uh, accidentally mentioned in passing to Carol Gardener about your dinner with Bruce Wayne..."

"Carol?" Alex repeats dubiously and pokes her head around the corner. Carol was the timid pixie of a woman in the accounts department, about fifty-something, with grey-streaked hair and glasses the size of fishbowls. She was probably the most quiet person in the whole building.

"I had no idea it was going to spread like wildfire! I'm sorry, Alex. If I'd known what a blabbermouth she was, I would have been more careful. She's always so quiet..."

"It's OK," Alex sighs. "You're off the hook." She sees no point wasting time over something already done, and at least it wasn't anything too major. Just another rumour that would lose its novelty soon enough.

Jessica exhales in relief. "Lunch is on me!"

"Can't say no to that," Alex laughs and picks up her coffee. "See you at one."

She returns to her post outside Wayne's office and starts working through phone messages left over the weekend. Half of them are personal calls from admirers, more or less either reminding him that he hasn't called back or making offers she'd rather not hear about. Stuck in the thick of it, she doesn't notice someone approach her desk until a throat clears.

"Excuse me, is Bruce in?"

Alex lifts her head and her face blanks in stunned silence to see Rachel Dawes standing there. The DA's assistant makes a small gasp of recognition and stares back with mirrored surprise.

"Oh! Aren't you...?"

"Alexandra." She fills in. "Nice to see you again, Ms Dawes."

"Call me Rachel, please," the brunette smiles pleasantly. "I didn't realise you worked here. How long ago, if I may ask?"

"Just two weeks," she replies. "Mr Wayne isn't in right now, but if you don't mind waiting a few minutes, he should be here soon."

Rachel nods and takes a seat on the waiting lounge, but keeps a keen watch on Alex that makes her uncomfortable. True, this unexpected coincidence would warrant such a show of interest, and Alex herself is curious how Rachel connects to Bruce Wayne and criminal law, but she doesn't feel it's her place to enquire. She turns back to her work, but is interrupted again when her boss makes his entrance.

"Rachel?" He cocks a head as he strolls towards them.

"Hello Bruce," Rachel stands, a cryptic smile strung on her face that doesn't entirely reach her eyes. "I hope you don't mind me coming unannounced."

"Not at all, not at all," he gestures genially for her to enter his office. He follows her, pausing by Alex's desk to take in his more important messages. "Morning, Alexandra. Did you have a nice weekend?" His question is perfunctory; she sees his eyes flick momentarily to the newspaper she has folded in a corner next to the computer.

"I did. And you, Mr Wayne?" She notes pointedly the violet-coloured bruise high up on his cheekbone that most definitely wasn't there prior to the weekend.

He offers her a wry grin. "Polo. I hate that game."

From the doorway, Rachel gives him a funny look.

The two disappear behind the heavy door and stand off to the side where only Rachel's back is visible from the oval window. It's impossible to tell what kind of conversation they're having; even a rowdy argument would be well contained in those soundproof walls. In any case, Alex decides she can always turn to Jessica for outrageous speculation.

--+--

Bruce had a feeling Rachel would show up. She had called the Manor on Sunday when the grisly murder came to light, as Alfred told him, wondering where he was. Now she stands in his office, awkward silence between them, staring at the floor.

"If you're here about Zsasz's escape, I already know. I'm onto it."

She shakes her head slowly. "No, I'm here today, just as a friend. You probably don't want to speak with me after... last time, but I came to see how you were."

He sighs. "I'm fine, Rachel. I am." He's tired, more than anything else, and the last thing he wants to do is talk.

She bites a lip at his gentle rebuff, but it's not enough to deter her. "How did you really get that bruise?"

"I was in Boston." During the scuffle with Yakavetta's men, one of them managed to land a lucky blow with the butt of a gun on the side of his mask. Thankfully it wasn't a visible spot, or Alex would have instantly pieced the puzzle the second she saw him today. Sometimes he wondered how close she was to finding out.

"Oh." Rachel says in understanding. "Um... does she know?"

"Know what?" He responds, purposely evasive.

She humours him. "About your nocturnal habit."

"No."

"Well. That can't be healthy."

"Thank you, Oprah." He snarks without menace, but she's smiling.

"You should tell her." Rachel says softly.

He stares at her for a minute. "You're crazy."

"What do you stand to lose? She cares about Batman, she's not going to sell you out."

"That's not what worries me." Uh-oh, he's said too much. Rachel's got that gleam in her eye she gets when she's investigating a case, and she isn't letting go until he's spilled everything. "She won't like who I am," he says eventually, dismissively, sounding small and pathetic to his own ears.

Rachel frowns. "What do you mean? How would you know?"

"I'm Bruce Wayne. She knows me. I stand for everything she despises."

Rachel laughs incredulously. "Bruce, you _designed_ yourself to be unlikable. That's not who you are."

He isn't so sure. If he's capable of being Bruce Wayne, what does it say about him?

A quick buzz goes off in Rachel's bag and she peeks inside. "That'll be Harvey. My time's up." She pushes a lock of hair from her face and straightens up to face him. "Tell me at least you'll think about it."

He doesn't answer.

"She'll move on, Bruce. We all do." Rachel gives him one last smile, a rueful one, then turns to leave.

* * *

A/N: Zsasz is a canon Batman villain but I've changed his MO in this story (he slits throats... not gruesome enough haha). There was going to be a Batman/Alex scene in this but it would have been too long, so the chapter has been broken off here. Thanks for reading!


	13. Chapter 13

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies. But there will be _no crossovers_.  
First off, _major_ apologies for the delay! Circumstances conspire against me. I also had writer's block for a good month or so on this. Hope you like it.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 13

"I wish you could come back some time." The voice is muffled and soft, almost shaky, as it filters over the telephone.

Alex's fingers twirl idly around the phone cord as she sits on the edge of her bed, nodding. "I know, I wish I could too, Nat. But right now would be a bad idea," she replies. She'd told Nat already about her voluntary exile: that if any of the Yakavettas caught her walking along the streets of Boston, she was fair game. She could always risk making a sneak trip, but she'd have to wait until things cooled off.

"The kids miss you, you know."

Alex smiles lightly. "Do they?" She had resigned abruptly, only days before she left for Gotham, without giving her class or her colleagues much chance to say goodbye.

"Yeah, I still hear some of them ask if Ms Reilly's coming back. Your, uh, star pupil -- remember Damien? -- he gives the new teacher a real hard time." Natalya chuckles.

It's not hard to believe, and Alex laughs. Damien was a carryover student from her remedial class in the previous year: an extraordinary troublemaker, with zero interest in school work, rebellious and disrespectful, but he had a natural aptitude for science, given his curiosity in experimenting with various pranks. She could see him literally raising hell for an unprepared teacher. "So," she changes the subject, "how are you feeling?"

"Like I've been roofied," Natalya manages thickly, but with a light tone. "I'm not in any pain. Doctors say my condition's stable. I might be able to get out of here by the end of the week."

"You gonna be OK?"

"Yeah, yeah. Oh," she adds, "heard back from that Detective Greenly. He says the men who were arrested -- they all pleaded guilty, so we're not going to trial." There's relief in her voice that Alex can understand entirely.

"That's great news." She concurs. It saved Nat the trauma of the witness box if it had to come to that. While they didn't have the luxury of finding enough evidence to pin crimes on the larger Yakavetta mob, with Robert being the only mastermind (and dead), getting the henchmen who carried out his work properly locked up was no poor substitute.

It occurs to Alex that there's suddenly a huge breeze flowing into her room, lifting the curtains in bulging waves, when she notices the soundless entry of familiar black boots behind those same billowing curtains.

"Um, hey," she says slowly into the phone, "I have to go. I'll call you back later."

"OK," a yawn responds. "Time I got off anyway, or I'll get nagged again by the nurse on patrol. Night."

"Sleep well. Bye, Nat." She hangs up and looks at Batman expectantly. "I take it you've heard the news today?" How could he not? It was everywhere.

He stares at her for an unsettling moment, then gives a slight, barely perceptible nod. "Victor Zsasz won't be troubling anyone again." His voice is a measured monotone; business only. _Well. Clearly he doesn't want to talk about it_. She looks down, shifting on the bed. He continues, "I found him hiding in the sewers just north of the Narrows. Not far from here."

"Oh." She blinks.

"You should be careful."

Only then does she see the jagged cut on his left arm that has broken through the kevlar; it looks like a machete tore into him. Face blanching, Alex jumps to her feet. "Are you hurt --"

"It's fine." He brushes off her concern with a sigh. "It's... not uncommon."

The wound has stopped bleeding but it's gaping and horrific. She doesn't know how he can endure it, managing to stand so composed with his features all under control. Just looking at the cut makes her wince. "How do you do it?" She whispers. How does he put himself through all this -- all this danger and suffering and sacrifice -- without asking for a thing in return?

Batman half-turns to the window. "It's what I have to be."

"But why?" She remembers the headlines from that morning, the talkback radio interviews, the lack of faith people placed in him. She remembers the anger she felt. Either they took Batman for granted or they sought to throw him into Arkham. "Why do you keep doing this?"

He's silent for a while. Maybe it's a question he's asked himself. "I haven't given up on this city yet." He faces her once more wearing a sad little smile and takes her hand. She watches him uncertainly. "Will you come with me? There's something I want to show you."

_What on earth?_ Her first instinct is to baulk because she has no idea what he could possibly want to show her, and her clock read 9:27 the last time she glanced at it... but she trusts him, doesn't she? She'd placed her life in his hands on more occasions than she cared to count. Her fingers curl tight against his palm in acceptance and she tries to ignore the strange energy in his eyes.

--+--

The tension inside the Tumbler is stifling. They've only exchanged two sentences between them -- _where are we going?_ and _you'll see_ -- and he can feel her unease grow with every mile of unknown territory (for her) they covered. On his part, he doesn't want to tell her, just yet.

He hears the hitch in her breath when the waterfall comes into view... and he hasn't slowed down.

"Um, Batman?" She falters.

"It's OK." He answers calmly. "We're home."

The car ploughs head-first into the water, a moment of blindness, and bursts through the hollow on the other side. The rock pool cushions their landing and while he drives up onto drier ground, Alex is busy gawking out the window at the revelation.

"Oh my god," she breathes in awe. They both climb out and he watches her take her first steps inside the batcave. She gazes up at the vast expanse of the hideout -- the natural pillars that support a high roof, home to a scattering of bats roosting away from their nest, the twisting tunnels, the waterfall -- and then casts her eyes onto the array of equipment stored here. She walks slowly around the central clearing, taking in the massive computer system and gadgetry, the tools and works-in-progress. "This is... amazing," she turns back to him, overwhelmed.

"Thank you." He isn't sure what to really say. No one's ever seen this place, let alone commented on it, other than Alfred and his mock disdain. He'd brought Rachel down here once, but she had been unconscious.

"No, I should thank you for sharing this with me. I appreciate it." Alex looks up at him with an earnest smile. He returns it.

Then he reaches a hand around to the back of his neck and starts to detach the cowl.

"What are..." She gasps in mid-sentence at this even greater surprise. She didn't realise the full extent of what he was willing to impart to her. "You don't have to do --"

"I choose to." He reassures her. "I thought you should know." Bruce lowers his head as he pulls the cowl off. He can hear her draw in a breath and hold it when the material clears the crown of his head; his face is down but he's in plain sight. Even with hair tousled and black make-up around his eyes, there's no mistaking his identity.

Slowly, he looks up. Her eyes are as big as saucers. Her lips have parted in a gape, speechless; all she can do is stare back. Shock and disbelief are easy to read on her, but beyond that, he doesn't know. As the seconds drag on in that god awful silence, his heart begins to sink. This was a bad idea and he'd known it. He forces back a swallow and tries to tear his eyes from hers, because he can't stand to see the disappointment when it comes.

"Mr Wayne?" She squeaks out at last.

The corners of his mouth lift unsurely, part smile, part cringe. "I think you can call me Bruce by now."

"Bruce," she breathes, eyes still roaming his face as if taking it in for the first time. "I had no idea... this whole time, you..."

"I'm still the same person you've always known," he tries to explain. "There is an idea of a Bruce Wayne, the corporate socialite with more money than brains -- but that's not me."

He doesn't know how much of this she's absorbing. She's staring at the bruise on his cheek, the one he'd gotten the other night from one of the Yakavetta men, and then she focuses on his wounded arm. Like she's piecing it all together, cementing in her mind the fact that Batman is really Bruce Wayne.

"It's... kind of incredible," she says at last. "I mean, I don't know, I'd had this idea that you were a regular guy -- nine-to-five job and all, like me, maybe ex-military or something -- but I never would have guessed... you were someone I knew all along." Her lips curl upward tentatively.

Her hand comes up gently to brush over the contours of his face, perhaps in fascination, perhaps to convince herself this was truly the face behind the mask. In any case, her touch is soothing and he relishes the feel of her soft fingertips on his skin in a way he'd never gotten to enjoy with the cowl on. Alex rises on her toes and presses her mouth to his. Like second nature, his hand winds around the nape of her neck, pulling her closer to deepen the kiss, and he can't believe the happiness that floods him that now _she knows_.

A clang of metal springs them apart. Bruce darts a look to the rickety elevator that has just descended and isn't much surprised (but very annoyed) to see Alfred standing there.

To his credit, Alfred catches on quick to the situation and chuckles apologetically. "I thought I heard you come in, Master Wayne, but I didn't realise you brought company."

Bruce wraps an arm around Alex's shoulder and brings the stunned girl to meet Alfred. "Alex, this is Alfred, my..." he pauses for a second, looking into the twinkling eyes of his butler; he's never had to properly address what the older man was to him, "...my mentor." Alfred's smile broadens genially. "Alfred, this is Alex."

"Officially I'm the butler, Miss Reilly, but maybe this change in job description means I'll get a bigger pay check," he beams at her. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"It's lovely to meet you too," she replies and shoots a sideways glance at Bruce. Of course, Alfred's subtlety would not be lost on her.

"Master Wayne's told me all about you," Alfred goes on with a playful glint in his eye.

"Alfred, don't you have something to do other than telling humourless anecdotes?" Bruce lifts an eyebrow pointedly.

"Certainly, sir; that arm of yours looks like it could do with some stitches, for one."

Bruce shuts up. Weighing his options, he decides having Alfred stab him with a needle and thread is the lesser evil. He excuses himself to change out of the suit into a t-shirt and jeans, rolling up one sleeve for Alfred to work on it. Alex sits by watching the two of them with a mixture of fascination and amusement as they chat idly; through this, she catches his eye every now and then and Bruce can almost forget the sting of having his wound treated.

With bandages strapped around his bicep, Bruce stands and leads Alex up the elevator to the Manor proper.

"Alfred's wonderful." She grins.

"Yeah, you say that now," he feigns scepticism. "You don't have to live with him."

"Um, I should probably go home," she bites a lip diffidently as she glances at one of the wall clocks in the room. "Thank you, for... well, you know."

He nods. "I'm glad you came."

"Me too."

Bruce drives her home in the Lamborghini, not needing a disguise anymore, and feels an odd sense of freedom. In the dark alley next to her apartment, Alex leans over the centre console in the car and kisses him goodbye for the night.


	14. Chapter 14

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies. But there will be _no crossovers_.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 14

Despite her morning routine being the same as it always was, everything felt unreal. She gets off the metro at Wayne Tower station, takes the lift to the top floor and settles into the office while her colleagues mill around as though nothing has changed, but Alex -- she's sitting on the biggest secret in Gotham City and she's afraid she might accidentally let something slip.

Batman is Bruce Wayne.

Batman is _Bruce Wayne_.

Batman is Bruce Wayne, her _boss_.

Things could not get any stranger.

She barely got any shut-eye last night and couldn't stop thinking about all the clues she should have picked up on. In hindsight, of course, it all made perfect sense. Bruce banked on the fact that he was the last person anyone would suspect as being the masked vigilante. He'd set up the ultimate disguise. And he'd entrusted her with it... that had to count for something in their relationship, right?

When he comes to work, sauntering leisurely through the building with a bigger shit-eating grin than usual, Alex double-takes and has to remind herself that what she's seeing is an illusion. She plays along, behaving just as she normally would, when he comes up by her desk to enter his office and throws her a wink. "Hi, Alex."

He keeps his voice low, sounding almost like Batman, and hearing it sends a thrill up her spine. But in a blink, he's ducked past the door before she can even respond. Instead, the phone rings.

"Mr Wayne's office," she says.

"Ah, Ms Reilly, isn't it?" A deep, rich voice enquires.

She frowns slightly in confusion. "Yes, Mr Fox? How may I help you?" She isn't aware of how the CEO of Wayne Enterprises came to know her name personally. Jessica might have passed it on, most likely --

"Would you be so kind as to inform Mr Wayne that his collapsable charge-firing rifle as arrived, as requested, and that he should meet me in half an hour at the Applied Sciences lab."

She's about to jot this down when she hears _charge-firing rifle_ and pauses, stunned. _No way_...

"Oh, and you're very welcome to join us. Alfred has told me the good news."

A smile comes to her unwittingly, and she suppresses the itch to let it spread and make herself look even more like a grinning idiot. "Um, thank you, Mr Fox. I'll be sure to let Mr Wayne know."

"Let me know what?"

Alex starts and almost bumps into him when his voice is suddenly behind her ear. The man sneaked up on people _far_ too easily. Still, he's wearing a toothy, mischievous grin while he's bent down to be at eye-level with her and she can't help but smile back. _Oh no. A pair of grinning idiots_.

She puts the phone down and turns to him. "You're meeting him in half an hour at Applied Sciences. Something's arrived."

"Ah. Rather discuss inside?" He jerks his head slightly.

She gets up and follows him into the office. He looks at her attentively, waiting to hear whatever she has to say, and she's amazed at how different he looks as Bruce Wayne with something real behind his eyes, instead of a smokescreen. So much more like Batman. "Uh, Mr Fox just wanted to see you about your new charge-firing rifle. But, can I ask..."

Bruce nods, prompting.

"How many people know about this? I mean, needless to say, Mr Fox now knows that _I_ know. So, will there be any more surprises in store for me?"

"No, no more surprises. I don't like keeping anything from you." He takes her hand, staring down at it as it lies dwarfed in his palm. "The only other person who knows is Rachel."

"Rachel?"

"Yes." His eyes flicker back up to her face. "She's my oldest friend," he adds.

"What about Lieutenant Gordon? Doesn't he know?"

"No... but I think he suspects."

"Oh." She turns the information over in her head. "Pretty well kept secret."

His voice softens. "You're OK with it?"

She curls her fingers up in his hand and graces him with a sweet curve of the lips. "Yes. Absolutely." She was always going to accept him, whoever he was, as Batman. It didn't matter to her if he were a street sweeper, a librarian, a soldier, an artist, or an industrialist, as it turned out. At the heart of things, even though she didn't know his face, she already knew the kind of person he was.

Her conviction seems to reassure him, and he draws her in to plant a chaste kiss on her mouth. She can recognise the scent of aftershave on him that she's always caught faintly before, usually mixed in with the smell of rubber, smoke and sweat when he was fighting crime, and she angles her face up to him welcomingly. The tip of her tongue peeks out to brush against his lips, teasingly, inciting a low growl from the back of his throat that heats up her skin. Her arms rise to wrap around his neck; the sensation is different yet familiar -- suit lapels instead of armour, short strands of hair at his nape instead of a smooth cowl -- but his lips... those lips are unmistakable.

At the moment, they're expertly moving over hers, while one of his hands rests at her hip, and somehow he's gotten her back pressing to the wall. Alex is struggling to hold onto the ability to think (aside from a delirious string of _oh my god_) and a tiny voice reminds her that she's _at work_, and what is she _thinking?_ but it's conveniently drowned out when his mouth leaves a hot trail to the side of her throat and latches onto a sensitive spot. _Oh god_. Her hands run over his shoulders, his chest, feeling the contour of hard muscle under the fabric, getting hotter and more breathless with each second. And then Bruce lets up with a little gasp and her eyes snap open.

_Oh shit_. "I'm sorry!" She retracts her hand from his arm -- his injured arm -- and looks up at him apologetically (_stupid, stupid, stupid_) but he just smiles and leans his forehead against hers.

"It's OK," he chuckles. "We can continue this later."

She bites her lip, all of a sudden coquettish. "Will we? I'm holding you to that."

"It's a promise." He whispers. His blue-grey eyes don't lie as they stare at her intensely, so close. She can hardly wait. Bruce flicks up his wrist to check the time. "When did you say Lucius wanted to meet?"

"Half an hour." She glances at the watch; it's been twenty minutes.

He takes her about the waist and pulls her from the wall. "Come on. Let's go. I can be early for once."

Alex tries to avoid the stares when she walks out of the room with Bruce Wayne, but still manages to catch half of them -- surprised faces, I-knew-it faces, disbelieving faces, even horror. She and Bruce are not displaying any overt signs of romance, but everyone seems to know. They're walking closer, perhaps. They make it to the lifts and take Bruce's personal express carriage, and she's relieved to get away from those prying eyes.

"Free for lunch today?" He asks as the lift plummets down. "I've already booked, so you can't say no."

She smiles with a quirked brow. "And what if I say no?"

He isn't fazed, toying with a lock of her hair that curls under the jaw. "Well then, I'd be forced to take some other pretty girl with me, and that'd be such a waste." She rolls her eyes, then his expression turns worried. "You aren't really saying no, are you?"

"Of course I'm not," she laughs lightly and leans up for a quick kiss. "Besides, it's not as though I have any work to do."

The doors open at Applied Sciences, from thirtieth floor to basement, and Bruce leads her out. The place is packed with all manner of advanced gadgetry, but devoid of people. Their steps echo loudly in the hall, especially her heels, and Bruce soon spots the new delivery sitting in a sleek black case by the computer workstation.

"What is it?" She queries. It doesn't look like any rifle she's ever seen, nor did she expect it to. Experimentally, Bruce manoeuvres it to unfold into something more resembling a gun and then taps the controls which set a digital reading on the side.

An elevator ping goes off behind them, and Alex turns around to see Mr Fox arrive. He smiles amiably at her as he walks towards them, then turns his attention to Bruce who is still studying the machine.

"Mr Wayne, how many times have I told you to read the instructions before using any of the devices down here?"

Bruce glances back with a sheepish grin. "You know me, I'm like a kid in a toy shop."

As Fox proceeds to introduce him to the new weapon and demonstrate its usage, Alex marvels at watching this side of Bruce when he isn't out fighting anything. It's evident he has a huge amount of respect for his mentors, Alfred and Lucius, and it puts Bruce in a different light when he isn't working on his own. She's still getting used to the idea of re-learning Bruce Wayne, and still incredulous at how wrong she'd been about him when they first met.

--+--

From his balcony, Gotham City lights up in the night like a jewelled crown, where the corporate skyscrapers cluster tall and bright in the middle, Wayne Tower amongst them, and the peripheries scoop down in lesser spires. He has Alex in his arms, the back of her head tucked in under his chin as they gaze out at the skyline, and he couldn't be more content.

He'd whisked her out to lunch as planned, and then coaxed her into having dinner with him at the Manor, where they'd be out of the public eye. He sensed she had some reservations about that -- being seen cosy with her boss -- so he'd suggested something more accommodating, although for him, it was so liberating to not have to hide anymore. Batman couldn't have a girlfriend, couldn't have a weakness... but Bruce Wayne could parade around his female company as much as he wanted without anyone caring.

Overlooking the immaculate gardens and greenery that surround Wayne Manor, they stand in peaceful silence. The sky is clear, no bat signal in sight.

"It's beautiful." Alex says. He agrees. He agrees with her that it's beautiful, even though he's seen how ugly the city is up close. "Do you stay up here often?"

"Not really." He hasn't the time.

"I guess it'd lose its appeal if you saw it all the time."

He smirks against her hair and trails his fingers lightly over her arm. "Some things don't."

She turns on the spot to face him, her eyes wide and glittering with an emotion he doesn't dare name, and he doesn't stop himself from taking her mouth into a bruising kiss.

When he lifts his head to breathe, he realises Alex has brought her hands up to his shirt collar. "Think we can get back to where we left off?" She whispers, and pops the first button.

A slow smile creeps up on him. "I told you, I don't make promises I can't keep."

* * *

A/N: Well, I hope that wasn't too cheesy. I have to confess, part of my delays with writing this (just part) is having gotten a new obsession: Rorschach. Horrible of me, I know. I do plan on winding up Ghost Town soon though, get closure and everything, before starting something new.

Oh, and while this isn't the first time I've mentioned it, Bruce has blue eyes because that's his traditional eye colour from the comics/cartoons (although Mr Bale has very fine hazel eyes). If you were wondering, the charge-firing rifle is the one Batman uses in TDK, which shoots a sticky wad of explosive goo that has a time-trigger (eg used in blowing open the window when extracting Lau from Hong Kong).

And **MG**, you are a dear ^_^ hope you have fun with this chapter since you sped up its completion!


	15. Chapter 15

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies. But there will be _no crossovers_.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 15

At the edges of her mind, all she can sense is warmth -- a soft, fuzzy, cocooning warmth in darkness that makes her feel safer than anything. Rising to consciousness, she sees white silk sheets (not hers), antique furniture (not hers) and a partial view of a bedroom that's already half the size of her apartment. And then she realises within that warmth surrounding her... that's _body heat_ along her back.

Turning over, Alex finds Bruce still asleep, his face buried against the pillow where her hair had been. His own gelled locks have become undone, flopping over his brow. There's a certain intimacy in being able to watch someone in slumber -- tranquil, unguarded, without their defences and pretences to take on the world -- and here she was watching Batman. Bruce Wayne. The man behind the mask. The man who refused to compromise on justice in a city that had long forgotten the meaning of the word.

He was complex. By all rights he should be enjoying his youth and prosperity as his facade did, not battling underworld scum and all the dregs of humanity. Alex doesn't believe she's met anyone more fascinating.

He sleeps on, however, and after several minutes she sits up, careful not to wake him as she disentangles their limbs. The clock on his side of the bed says eight-thirty. She doesn't suppose she's expected to show up at work today. Gingerly getting out of bed, she picks up the nearest item of clothing on the carpet -- Bruce's shirt -- for modesty's sake, although there's no one to see her (and even if Bruce _were_ awake, it was nothing he hadn't already seen), and makes for the en suite bathroom.

Wow, she is sore.

She doesn't dwell on that thought.

A shower clears her head and energises her skin in a quick wash. By the time she steps out, wrapped in a fluffy white robe, Bruce has awaken.

"Hey," she smiles and sits at the end of the bed.

"Hey." He echoes, wearing a grin like the Cheshire cat that got the cream and the canary. He pushes himself up on an arm and leans in for a kiss when she spots the bloom of red on his bandage.

"You're bleeding." She frowns and he peers down at his arm to check. It's mostly dried. "Was that from..."

"Over exertion?" He chuckles. "Worth it." He pecks her on the cheek then goes to shower as well. He has none of her modesty, of course. "I'll be out in five," he says before disappearing behind the doorway. "Alfred will have breakfast ready downstairs, if you want to get started."

"OK."

Alex gets dressed in yesterday's rumpled clothes and ventures out to find the kitchen. Intuitively following the smell of frying bacon and toast and coffee, she eventually reaches her destination after a few wrong turns where Alfred is standing at the stove with his back to her.

"Morning, Alfred," she greets.

"Ah, Miss Reilly, you're up earlier than expected," he smiles at her over a shoulder with a waggle of the eyebrows. She blushes instantly; he couldn't possibly have _heard_ anything, could he? "Is Master Wayne still sleeping in like a dead log?"

"The dead log is up, thank you Alfred," Bruce's voice calls from behind her as he enters the room, snaking his arms around Alex's waist. Freshly cleaned, he smells of winter forests and lime pressed up against her back.

"Go on, you two, dig in," Alfred brings out the sizzling pan of bacon and eggs and divides it between them on their respective plates. There are two slices of toast on each, and spread on the table are a fruit bowl, muffins, coffee, milk and juice. "Anything else you'd like?" He asks her. "I have muesli and yoghurt in the fridge, or I can whip up some waffles in a minute --"

"Oh, not at all," she interrupts him with an incredulous expression at the food, "I usually make do with cereal, Alfred, this is _divine_."

The older man tips his head with a genial beam. "Well isn't that lovely to hear, Miss. If only I got that every day I might even start looking younger," his eyes twinkle in Bruce's direction.

"If I had to praise every meal you made, it wouldn't be special. And I'd go insane." Bruce snorts and sits down to start eating.

"Nonsense. Compliments never go out of style, sir." Alfred hangs up his apron and soon leaves them to get on with the rest of his schedule.

"You and Alfred sound like you go way back," Alex comments.

Bruce gives a little smile as he finishes his coffee. "All my life. He practically raised me." He tells her about his childhood and the loss of his parents, not in a lot of detail, but enough to paint the notable role Alfred took on as his guardian. And Bruce was not an easy boy to bring up. "I used to give him hell running through the hedge maze," he recalls amusedly. "If the gardeners weren't in, he'd have to come in himself and fetch me out. He absolutely hated it."

"You have a hedge maze?" She gapes, a piece of toast in her fingers forgotten midway up to her mouth.

His eyes brighten. "You want to see it?"

--+--

To be fair, there were many beautiful and interesting features of the vast Wayne Manor gardens, but the hedge maze undeniably took the cake. It was quite a walk from the Manor grounds, diverging off into the hills where there was enough vacant space, and when they came to it, she could see it veritably needed that area. It was a full-sized labyrinth with six feet high walls of dense vegetation that had gone slightly wild -- this part of the gardens wasn't as well kept as the rest. Still, the sheer sight of it was astounding. In its centre stood a circular pergola made of stone, raised up from the earth so that the domed roof shone as a beacon for maze runners.

"I think I'll get lost just looking at it," Alex stares, transfixed.

"I guess a chase is out of the question, then?"

She looks dubious. "I don't think I'd get very far."

"So let's get you acquainted with the maze," he holds out a hand, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips.

Bruce proceeds to lead her through a twisting route inside that both astounds and awes her. The air is somehow cooler, running a shiver through her briefly, and every now and again they'll come across a statue in the road.

"Are these meant to be like signposts, in a way?" She asks curiously.

His response is decidedly cryptic. "Only if you know what you're looking for." Bruce never once hits a dead end, proving just how many times he must have gotten lost in here as a kid to know what to look for.

They reach the pergola in good time, and from the vantage point she can see how far they've come as well as how much unexplored territory remains. They've really only walked through a quarter of the maze.

"Which of your ancestors decided to build this madness?"

"My great-grandfather. He had a thing for puzzles." He sits down on the stone bench provided and pulls her onto his lap. The gesture makes her smile and she leans into him, gazing over the garden. "I'm glad I met you." He says simply. She turns her eyes to him. The words are quiet but they fill her like nothing else and she almost can't speak.

"Me too." Alex whispers against his ear, hugging him tightly. It's not quite what she really means to say but it's close enough.

The remainder of the afternoon is spent in idle wandering through greenery. Bruce had the foresight to bring a couple of fruit bars in his pocket to stave off hunger until dusk when they begin heading back.

"Uh oh." He murmurs, looking at the sky.

The bat signal is up early tonight. Bruce watches her with an apologetic look but she waves a hand dismissively. "Don't be silly, I'm fine with it. It's what you have to do." He should never have to doubt her support.

His smile is soft as he bestows her a parting kiss, then he sprints off to the underground cavern. With a chilly wind picking up, Alex hurries back to the Manor on her own and explains the situation to Alfred.

"Of course." He nods in understanding. "Are you staying for dinner, Miss Reilly?"

The question surprises her. "Oh no, no, I really couldn't. I should be going by now."

"You're welcome to stay another night; I'm sure Master Wayne would have no objection at all."

She declines again, more firmly, so he instead persuades her to take home a risotto dish at the very least. "You're very persistent, you know that?" She laughs, relenting to accept the food.

"It's my middle name, dear," he winks. "I'd give you a lift home in the Rolls but Master Wayne prefers I stay back while he's out. In case of emergency, and such." He calls for a cab to pick her up and shoves the driver a fifty before she can protest. "See you soon!" He waves jovially and she can't help but wave back as the car pulls out of the driveway and through the front gates.

Alex settles into the back seat. Five minutes or so into the ride, she starts to notice the cabbie eyeing her from the rearview mirror.

"Hey, I've seen your face on TV," he clears his throat.

"Sorry?" She frowns. She's never been on TV. "I'm afraid you must be mist --"

"Nah, I'm sure of it. I got an eye for faces." He squints at her a little longer. Maybe she looks like someone famous. "You were on the news last night."

She was?

"You were having lunch with that rich guy -- Wayne --" he slaps his forehead, "no _wonder_ you're coming from his place." His head starts to nod with conviction. "That's right. You're his new squeeze, ain't ya?" He flashes her a toothy grin. "Nice catch, lady, nice catch."

Alex sits still as a statue; she's mortified. Her relationship status now _public news_? She groans inwardly. And to think she had wanted to keep it relatively quiet. "Um, what did they say? On TV?"

"Just that you two look like a cosy item," he shrugs. "My wife remembers these things better than me; I'm just good at faces."

"Quite a talent," she says weakly.

"Yep," he goes on obliviously. "Never forget a face. And I see plenty in my business. Good to meet you in person... Amanda? Alison?"

"Alexandra." Jeez, they even published her name.

"Alexandra." He nods. "Best of luck to ya. That Bruce Wayne, he goes through girls real quick, don't he?" He chortles.

"Uh..."

"No offence to you, of course," he corrects himself and smiles encouragingly. "'Sides, you don't look like them flighty types, I bet he's found himself a keeper this time."

Pleasant words aside, she can't get home soon enough and when her plain little apartment block comes into view outside the window, she lets herself out and walks the rest of the short distance. That ended the most uncomfortable cab journey she's ever had.

---

A/N: Hi guys. *waves sheepishly* Sorry for the long absence and I thank you for your patience. Real life takes its toll on me and I can never find time to write, or I have too much on my mind to write. Was inspired in the moment and hastily got to work on this, so what you see is the product of two nights' writing (that hopefully make up for many). Any mistakes or absurdities are mine.

I have no idea if Wayne Manor has a hedge maze, but given how rich they are, they probably do. For kicks. And for the record, they terrify me. In any movie featuring a hedge maze, I guarantee you nothing good comes out of it.

As always, thanks for reading!

PS - MG, your reviews are always uplifting, they truly are :) Alas, my big breaks are due to a lack of creativity; wish I could do something about it but genius can't be forced, as I always say LOL. PPS - ever considered getting an account? Then I'd be able to reply to you properly and not publicly.


	16. Chapter 16

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies. But there will be _no crossovers_.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 16

She has been exceedingly quiet in the car. He's driving them to the grand opening of the new wing at Gotham Museum, generously donated by the Wayne Trust Fund, and he didn't need any of his special training to sense that something was off. While stopped at a light, he tilts his head to look at her.

"Alex?" He asks quietly. "Everything OK?"

She looks up from whatever blank space she's been staring at and gives him a quick smile. "Yeah. Just a little... nervous, I guess." She fidgets with the strap of her handbag. "I've never been to one of these events before."

There seems to be something further behind her unease, but Bruce has no reason to second-guess what she said. "It's nothing, really -- just like any other function." He reassures her. "You'll be fine."

She doesn't look any more reassured, but she's already turned her face back to the window. He drives on.

When they arrive, an army of camera flashes greets them at the entrance to the museum. The paparazzi have come out in droves, surprising even Bruce himself. What would usually be a subdued affair in the back social pages was now going to have prime real estate on the cover of every gossip rag in the city.

"Mr Wayne, how long have you and Alexandra been dating?" A female reporter thrusts her microphone in his face, keeping up with him as he strides up the front steps of the building. It's the first time he and Alex have been in public together since Tuesday, and their appearance at the grand opening was giving the media a field day.

Another reporter hems in on his right. "Mr Wayne, what's your opinion on office romance?"

"Mr Wayne, you used to exclusively date models and celebrities; what brings about this --"

"Mr Wayne, would you say your playboy lifestyle has --"

"Mr Wayne, is it true you serenaded Alexandra with a song by Phil Collins?"

He cocks an eyebrow to that one, but otherwise remains silent. Taking Alex's arm more firmly, he leads her into the relative sanctuary of the museum foyer, beyond which only authorised reporters and photographers were permitted access -- thankfully eliminating all members of their entourage. He lets out a breath of relief.

"I'm sorry you had to get through all that," he tells Alex as they reach a quieter place. She has emerged safely from the mauling, aside from having to smooth out her dress a little, but her brow remains troubled. Bruce lightly cups her chin and lifts it upward. "What's wrong?"

She meets his eyes reluctantly and sighs. "No, nothing's wrong; it's just me," she says. "I didn't realise how public everything was going to be, when they're usually... you know, personal. I'm not used to it, that's all."

He nods and places his hands on the side of her shoulders. "It's OK. We'll try to avoid them." He'd forgotten how uncomfortable it was to have one's privacy intruded upon, given that he'd lived his whole life under public scrutiny. Even as Batman, who drew his fair share of criticisms. "If there's anything bothering you, you can always tell me."

"I know." A smile starts to slowly spread its way across her lips. "What about the little things?"

"Even the little things," he adds with conviction.

Her smile turns playful. "Then can I just say, these shoes are killing me."

He glances down at the silver Louboutin peep-toes he bought her yesterday that elevated her on their four inch stilettos and framed a set of lacquered toenails. He grins. "I'll return them first thing tomorrow."

"Don't you dare," Alex counters. "They're far too gorgeous. And thank you, if I haven't already said it thirty times."

"More than welcome." He snakes an arm around her waist. "Let's get you to the new wing and see whether the Trust Fund's been put to good use."

--+--

A gathering of forty people or so stands waiting outside the new Wayne Hall where a gold ribbon has been tied across the arched doorway. They're all waiting on him, presumably -- Mr Fashionably Late -- for the official ceremony, and a balding man in round spectacles waves his arm frantically at them to hail Bruce over. Bruce ignores him, for the time being.

Instead, he leads her leisurely through the crowd. She doesn't recognise anyone but Bruce introduces her along the way to various members of the Trust Fund Committee and Gotham Museum's curatorial and research staff. While Alex doesn't relish the attention drawn to her, she does get a thrill when Bruce refers to her as his girlfriend, which garners a real response in some of the guests who know him more personally. She wonders if he's ever referred to anyone as a girlfriend...

"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please," the chime of a spoon against champagne flute rings out, and Alex spots the balding man from earlier on preparing to make a speech. "Good evening and welcome to the grand opening of Gotham Museum's Wayne Hall. Thank you all for coming tonight, and as director of Gotham Museum, I would like to extend special thanks to the Wayne Trust Fund and Mr Wayne for their most gracious support, and for making this endeavour possible. It is also my pleasure to present to you this evening our latest exhibition: Treasures of the Tsars, a most exquisite collection of the Russian Crown jewels and regalia, which will be in Gotham for three weeks only. And so without further ado, I would like to call upon Mr Bruce Wayne to officially open the new wing."

Alex catches the briefest glimpse of an eye roll from Bruce before he smiles down at her with a "be right back," and makes his way to the front as a polite applause ripples through the guests. The museum director hands him a pair of scissors and with a quick snip, the ribbon falls away in split pieces to dangle at the edges of the doorway.

The crowd begins to venture into the new wing, marvelling at the size and interior design, but more prominently, gaping at the displays of glittering jewels lining the walkway. With everything under glass and tight security, it's clear Wayne Hall was built specifically for high end valuables as the rest of the museum did not have the facilities to protect such items.

Bruce cannot be seen amidst the flock of people but Alex isn't too concerned, content to take in the museum experience in the meanwhile. Curators nearby chatter excitedly amongst themselves about having spent months trying to acquire the collection, and serve as a sort of running commentary as she follows their path through the hall.

"Now _this_, I have to see to believe," an airy voice says from close behind, and Alex turns around, unsure if the speaker was addressing her.

She finds two ultra sophisticated young women watching her, both wearing amused smirks and eyes twinkling with something darker than mirth. The raven-haired one laughs.

"_You're_ the girl Bruce Wayne's going steady with? Look at you!" She casts a disdainful eye over Alex's simple hair and simple black dress. "Are you some kinda charity case? You don't belong in our world, honey. I don't think it'll last," she ends lightly.

Alex bristles. Did every elitist glamazon feel compelled to give her a piece of their mind on _101 reasons you shouldn't be with Bruce Wayne_? "Well, actually, that's none of your business," she snaps back, "but if you're so inclined to take a bet on how long it'll last, you can keep it to yourself."

"Do you have any idea who I am?" The woman asks shrilly, hand on hip.

Alex raises a disinterested brow.

"Oh, of course you wouldn't, you're way out of your league. Let me tell you, Bruce and I have our history, OK? So I can't stand to see him..." she leans in with a sneer, "_degrading_ himself, with some lowlife like you."

Hands clenched at her sides, Alex is this close to punching the smug look off the woman's face, but she's already noticed that the photographers, who have been hired to document the grand opening, have found themselves a more interesting spectacle. Over the other woman's shoulder is a camera lens aimed like a rifle at Alex, and the last thing she wants is to be published as the starring role in a catfight at Gotham Museum. Any retaliatory behaviour would be recorded and scandalised, irrespective of the reasons. She presses her lips together tightly, biting back on all the hideous insults that are popping up in her mind, reduced to glaring furiously, and resolves to turn away from this.

"Lowlife? That's fabulous, that's rich. What on earth do we call someone like you, droppin' the standard even further?"

Both heads turn to this intervention. A man to Alex's left, standing slightly in front of the small audience they'd attracted, had spoken up. She's never seen him before, and with his boyish good looks and arresting eyes, she doesn't imagine she could have forgotten. He isn't looking at her yet, instead, grinning sardonically at the other woman which must be irritating her to no end.

"Who the hell are you?" The woman shrieks indignantly.

"Not important. Out of your league, Miss Lockhart-Graham, and even if I weren't, well... I'm sure you're a real swell gal under that bitchy exterior. Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to borrow Miss Reilly for a second." He turns to her then, hand extended, arctic blue eyes smiling like they shared an in-joke, and Alex grasps it without hesitation.

She blocks out whatever rambling comes out of Lockhart-Graham's mouth as her mystery saviour leads her away from trailing eyes to a less populated section of the museum. "Thank you," she says, sitting down on one of the lounge seats in an alcove to give her feet a rest. "If you hadn't done anything sooner I might have broken her nose."

"What a pity I didn't hold my tongue," he laughs, leaning against the wall. "And no need to thank me, I'm just doing a civil service, puttin' idiots in their place."

"Who is she, anyway?"

"Chloe Lockhart-Graham. Daughter of oil tycoon Harold Graham. You didn't know her at all when she started carpin' at you?" He whistles. "Where on earth did they send that gal to school?" He pauses then grins toothily. "Oh sorry, speakin' of my own manners -- I'm Darwin, by the way. Darwin Somerset."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Alexandra, but I think you already knew that." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I do. You're quite the celebrity these past couple of days," he nods.

"Don't I know it."

He peers at her downcast face with curiosity. "I take it fame ain't your thing?"

Alex shrugs noncommittally. "No... well, not like this. I wouldn't mind being famous for an achievement or something. But what you saw back there? That's exactly why I don't like the publicity. I don't want psychos like Chloe something-Graham knowing all about my love life and feeling like she has the right to an opinion on it. I don't want taxi drivers, or complete strangers, knowing things about me; it's creepy." She looks up at him. She isn't sure why she's telling all this to a man she'd just met, but he wasn't running away in boredom; in fact, he seemed to be listening intently, understanding.

"I see what you're sayin', but you must have foreseen some of it, didn't you? I mean, it's Bruce _Wayne_. Everythin' he does is in the public domain."

"Well, in a way but... no, I didn't really think of it. And in any case, it wasn't, um... planned." _Not in the least_. She really had not planned on seeing Bruce Wayne in any light other than as an employer, or more frankly, as an idiot.

"Ain't that just the way love works," Darwin smiles softly.

"Enough about me," Alex says. "What about you? What's your excuse for being at this total beehive of activity?" She spares a glance at their surroundings; most people have moved on to other parts of the exhibition and barely a handful remain in sight.

"I'm a historian," he declares. "I study Eastern European history and the Romanov dynasty has always been fascinatin' to me." He catches her sceptical expression and chuckles. "Yeah, I get that a lot." They talk history, and then everything else, until Bruce eventually finds them.

"There you are," he says while rounding the corner, but his smile wavers for a second when he sees her companion.

"Bruce," Alex stands up, beaming widely. "This is Darwin," she gestures, "Darwin, Bruce."

"Hello." Bruce is perfunctory as they shake hands.

"Pleasure to meet you," Darwin drawls.

Bruce retracts first. "So, did the two of you enjoy the exhibition?"

"It's lovely," Alex replies. "Can't say the same for some of the attendants, though," she adds quietly against his ear. He gives her a look, but she simply smiles. _Later_.

"The museum's close to wrapping up for the night. Are you ready to go?"

She nods and twines her arm with his before facing the other man. "Bye, Darwin. It's been a delight chatting with you."

He bows theatrically and bids her farewell.

"Who is that weirdo?" Bruce frowns once out of earshot.

Alex grins to herself. In spite of his All-American sandy hair crewcut and Southern mannerisms, weirdo was a pretty accurate description for Darwin. "Long story. Where did you go after the ribbon-cutting? I couldn't see you anywhere."

"I heard staff talking about a possible security breach with the lockdown protocol, so I thought I might check it out." As they approach the entrance to Wayne Hall, he points up to the row of steel bars sheathed behind the arch. "They're supposed to come down when the alarm goes off, but something's jamming the signal."

"Did they fix it?"

"They're working on it."

Outside, the journalists have deserted the premises, allowing them to walk to the car park in peace. It's surprisingly late.

"Where to?" Bruce asks at the car -- a silver M3, one of many in his garage that he likes to take out when feeling low profile -- holding ajar his driver-side door before getting in. "Did you want to go home?"

He sounds tired and Alex isn't altogether sure why. "It's a Friday; I was kind of thinking... I could still stay at your place?"

His eyes meet hers over the roof of the car and her heart skips a beat when he smiles, his face serene in the lamplight. "Can't think of anything better."


	17. Chapter 17

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies. But there will be _no crossovers_.

NOTE: To be on the safe side, this chapter is rated a mild M.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 17

His brow furrows. "Who?"

"Chloe something-Graham," she repeats. Admittedly, the lack of a full name isn't terribly helpful, but surely he couldn't have known _that_ many Chloe Grahams.

Bruce drums his fingertips on the steering wheel for a second then glances at her. "Nope, I got nothing."

"Tall, black hair, thinks she's Paris Hilton?"

His expression stays blank, unsurprisingly. _Maybe he doesn't even know who Paris Hilton is. Maybe _all_ the women around him have been like Paris Hilton_. That wouldn't surprise her either.

"Um..." Alex racks her brain further. "Oh, she's the daughter of an oil tycoon?"

"Harold Graham?" The light bulb finally goes off. "Ah."

"That's the one. What was the rest of her name?"

He shrugs. "No idea. Barely know her." She opens her mouth to speak, but he's already pre-empted her question. "The only history I have with her was a one night thing. Involving a lot of alcohol."

She suspected so, but hearing the confirmation from him makes her rest easier. Nevertheless, she still hates having even thought about it. She understands perfectly whatever he did in the past in furtherance of his outward reputation meant nothing to him, yet she can't help but be daunted by the sheer number of partners he's had. And to be fair, not all were necessarily airheads.

"And Darwin?" Bruce prompts. "How does he come into this?"

"He told her off, got me out of there."

"That's... gallant of him," he says, not sounding entirely convinced.

"He's old school." She looks at him sideways, noting the pinched line of his lips that happened whenever he was worried, the way his brows overshadowed his eyes, and she shakes her head slightly with a smile. "Bruce," she placates, "I'm not interested in him."

The tension on his face eases and he spares her a contented grin. "Good." It's a low purr that comes out of him, masculine, one that carries a note of something primal, and sends a tingle through her. If only he knew, she'd give up a thousand Darwins for one Bruce.

The wrought iron gates of Wayne Manor finally come into view and they roll onto the driveway, wheels crunching audibly over gravel. Once inside the garage, Bruce returns the car to its customary space and switches off the ignition. She makes no move to exit. He turns to her, a little surprised, before he recognises the unmistakable light in her eyes. Ever the perfect gentleman, he doesn't rush.

He leans in, his lips inching closer until they're hovering just above hers. She bridges the distance keenly, opening up for a burning, full-bodied kiss, at which he is so very good, that leaves her breathless and pulling him closer. Her wrists cross behind his neck and hold on as his hands roam over her skin, over her back, stirring a fevered warmth wherever he touched.

"Alex," he sighs. It's in his voice, as strong as her own: _want_. One minute, she's pressed up against the centre console in a strained position; the next, he has grasped her hips and swept her effortlessly over to straddle him on the driver's seat. A gasp escapes her on contact. This close, the heat radiating between them gets too much. Sensation gets too much. The thin layers of fabric separating them, get too much.

As Bruce's mouth latches onto the side of her throat, doing incredibly distracting things with his tongue, Alex reaches a hand back blindly for the glovebox. She finds the handle she's looking for, tugs it, then reaches in. And she doesn't need to see his face to feel him smirking against her skin.

He lets out an involuntary growl entering her. Their union is quick, needy and intense after a day without. It even causes the car to groan in protest at the rocking. Spliced between Bruce's rapid panting, something like a laugh issues forth, breath fanning her neck irregularly. Alex finds herself wondering for a second whether their actions are mechanically damaging, before thought jolts out of her head again in favour of delirium. _And who cares about the car; Bruce has five of the same model_. With rising passion, a series of little moans bubble out of her mouth, incrementally louder and higher in pitch as she nears tipping point. It hits in a spray of searing energy, and she cries out his name. He finds his own release moments later, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

She slumps against his chest, fingers dancing idly on hard muscle underneath. With his arms encircling her protectively, she doesn't believe there is a better feeling in the world. His lips brush her ear, moving as though in speech, but he doesn't say anything. She looks up in question; his dark eyes reveal nothing.

"We should go inside," he says.

"Mm-hmm," she replies, too lazy to move. It's just as well they took the M3 today; there frankly wasn't enough room in the Murcielago for anything other than driving.

Bruce pushes open the door then carries her out, after properly adjusting their dishevelled attire, and heads for the elevator. Inside the house, he drops her off outside the study.

"Tonight? Really?" She pouts.

He taps some keys on the piano and turns to her ruefully as the bookcase behind him shifts. "Yeah. Have to make up for last night, remember?" Oh, she certainly remembers last night. Very clearly. The part about having persuaded him to take the night off, that is. She'd conveniently forgotten the concession she made. "I'll be back before you know it. I promise."

"Be careful." She gives him one last kiss and watches him descend to the Batcave.

It's past midnight. Alfred has probably retired for the night, so she takes a shower and climbs into bed. It's big and empty, in an even bigger and emptier room, but she tucks herself into one side and tries to sleep. Her tired eyes count the minutes as they tick off the digital clock, wanting to wait.

_12:13._

_12:14._

_12:15._

_6:07._

She awakes to Bruce curled up at her back. Smiling softly, she rolls over to face him. He smiles back in the early morning light and kisses her forehead.

--+--

Over the following few nights, Batman keeps a close watch on Gotham Museum for signs of a break-in. Gordon has his men posted on surveillance duty as well, though this has a mixed effect -- their presence was obvious (in their standard issue vans parked stationary for sixteen hours at a time), which might deter their would-be burglars, yet they were clumsy, so in the event their burglars were bold enough to make a move, they would probably get away with it.

Perched on the ledge of an office block across the street, Bruce has a good view of the museum roof, a likely entry point, which the police do not have covered. But no one shows. Almost a week since the opening of the Russian jewels exhibition, the security scare has not eventuated in anything. The problem was rectified soon enough, so perhaps the thieves have had to reorganise themselves. And this is never good news.

A simple search of national police records had revealed a string of museum heists in the past six months, spanning along the east coast, starting from Gainesville, up to Richmond, Philadelphia, and New York. It doesn't take much in deductive reasoning to see Gotham being the next target. Stolen items, while valuable, were mostly lightweight and portable, indicating a one- or two-man operation.

"See anything yet?" A policeman's voice crackles over radio and and is picked up into his earpiece.

"The place is deader than a graveyard," a cranky speaker returns. "We're wasting time here."

"That's the Lieutenant's call." The first speaker sighs. "Report back at oh-five-hundred."

Batman lingers for another hour before cutting short a fruitless night, instead heading out to patrol more predictable districts. The Narrows still has its drug peddlers and rapists and Arkham escapees; it seems as though things never change. Thwarting the petty crimes might not have the same political or widespread impact as a museum robbery, but it makes the bigger difference for those who are most vulnerable. And he's the only one who can.

Over the following few days, Bruce also sees more of Darwin Somerset than he cares to. The man had somehow (_coincidentally_) bumped into Alex while she and Jessica, Fox's secretary, were on lunch break. It looks quite clearly a lot like stalking, and he says as much to Alex, but she brushes off his observation and teases him for thinking too much like Batman.

Was he overreacting? He doesn't really have a frame of reference. He's never felt this way about a woman before. He isn't _jealous_, he's sure, because he has complete trust in Alex. He knows she doesn't think of Darwin in that way. What remains unknown are the man's intentions.

Casting aside the more paranoid theories born of Batman's mind (abduction, blackmail, other forms of leverage -- though these are all _valid_ concerns, given his experience), he is still left with Darwin pursuing his girlfriend a little too enthusiastically for comfort. Alex denies giving him any signs or leading him on, but Darwin was probably the kind of man for whom mere conversation was enough of a sign to get him going.

"He's just a friend," she tells him.

That line has probably been the death knell for a thousand other relationships. Still, he doesn't believe it will end theirs.

"How many male friends do you think I have, exactly? Apart from you and men over fifty?"

She's correct, naturally. Alfred, Fox and Gordon are the only men she regularly comes into contact with; Alex is hardly in the position of being swamped by men. He taps his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "Should I be concerned about you eloping with Alfred?"

She grins and shoves him playfully, but continues. "You have nothing to worry about. I seriously doubt he'll try anything. And even if he does, I'd turn him down."

"And if he does try to hit on you, I get to say 'I told you so', right?"

"Right," she laughs, and the topic seems resolved to her, out of mind. It stays resolutely stuck in his, though, as much as he would like to drop it. Darwin was a smooth talker, and that was always something to be watched carefully.

* * *

A/N: Bet you didn't see a speedy update coming, eh? :) Alas, can't say the next one will be quite as fast but I hope to get things done more quickly than the months-long delays I've had. Thank you dear readers for staying with this story!

In my haste to upload the last chapter, I should mention that any factual errors about museums and whatnot are my own.

If you're curious, Darwin is somewhat inspired by Darwin Tremor, a fictional character in _Smokin' Aces_, except a hundred times more refined and educated because Tremor is (a) redneck and (b) psycho. But he _is_ played by Chris Pine, and that, ladies and gentlemen, is the most relevant factor :D


	18. Chapter 18

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies. But there will be _no crossovers_.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 18

In the swanky Italian bistro, Pastels, two blocks down from Wayne Enterprises, Alex sits under a cloth shade on the terrace where the air is uncharacteristically light and warm for late fall. The prestigious city strip is lined with small eateries that extend their clusters of outdoor tables, filled with customers during peak hour. It's hard to believe that little over a month ago, she'd been scrounging up just enough money for a hotdog in the park.

Not that she was eating any healthier right now.

The service at Pastels is friendly and prompt, and shortly after ordering, a waiter brings their meal. A sizeable gourmet pizza loaded with toppings is set on the table.

"Did you know, Donald Trump says this place makes the best pizza in Gotham?" Darwin remarks, after downing half his slice and looking at the other half appraisingly. "I think I'd have to agree."

"Mmm," she utters around a mouthful; the pizza is every bit as delicious as it looks. "Reminds me of the pizza at this great place in Boston I used to go to all the time."

He grins at this. "It's nice to dine with a gal who can appreciate good pizza, and not just eat four twigs and a shrimp."

"True, I don't really watch what I eat," she frowns. The grease on the pizza glistens in a new light... for a second. _Nope, still appetising_.

"You don't need to."

"That'll all change, once I hit thirty," she snorts. "Runs-in-the-family kind of thing. As my ma said, ruined her girlish figure in one fell swoop." The memory brings out a faint smile. The women on her mother's side of the family had a tendency to put off weight gain only until entering their thirties, whereupon everything then caught up with them.

"So what are you frettin' about? You've a long way to go before thirty," he winks.

"Liar," Alex laughs. It's flattery and she knows it, mindful of her conversation with Bruce. But Darwin's given her no reason to feel threatened or uncomfortable.

He leans back in his chair, left hand casually cradling a glass of wine, and lets his eyes wander over the buildings around them. "City's changed a lot since I last saw it. The corporate end of town wasn't this corporate."

"How long ago was that?"

"About seven, eight years."

"Did you grow up here?"

"Latter half of my teens," he nods. "Born and raised in Dallas, moved up here when I was fourteen, then got a taste for the wider world. Spent a lotta time in Europe. You done much travellin', Alex?"

"No, can't say I have. My family didn't really have the money for going overseas." There had been a brief period before they met the Yakavettas when finances hadn't been so tight and they had vacationed around America. She has the childhood pictures to prove it. However, they'd never gone beyond territorial waters. "Not even to Ireland," she adds, "though my parents missed it a lot." Coming out of her detour down memory lane, Alex returns to Darwin's piercing blue gaze that seems to pick up on her nostalgia.

"You really ought to go, some day," he says. "It's a beautiful country. Has some truly astoundin' coast lines and castles."

"Yeah, I've been meaning to go." With things looking up as of late, no longer hounded by the mob, it's a goal she can finally work towards. How she'd ever convince Batman to take a holiday, though, is another question. "What was your favourite place in Europe?"

A devilish grin lights up Darwin's face. "Gotta be Prague." On a subject close to his heart, he spares no detail about the wonders of the city's rich history, fine arts and architecture. It's only when the tables around them start to clear that Alex thinks to check the time. She's late. "Oh shit. Darwin, I'm sorry, I have to run," she says hastily, getting up from her chair.

"It's alright," he breezes, unruffled, "it was a good lunch." He sees her starting to rummage through her bag. "No, I've got it," he sticks a palm out to cover her hand, but she's already opened her purse.

"What? No need to be so chivalrous, Darwin," she laughs, "it's the twenty-first century." She drops the bills onto the table and makes a mad dash for the exit. "Talk to you later!" She calls over her shoulder. She glimpses Darwin smiling and waving her goodbye; then she crosses the road and begins running.

Alex returns to the office at half past two. Trying not to sound so out of breath and keeping some semblance of decorum in her brisk pace, she's lucky to have avoided dragon lady Van Patten, who had a habit of finding people when they'd rather not be found. Alex is on her way to her desk when she suddenly slows down at the sight before her.

A woman is standing with Bruce outside his office, the two of them having just stepped out. This wouldn't be anything too unusual except for the fact that the visitor was Chloe Lockhart-Graham, who had no connection to Bruce in his work capacity (or in any capacity, really). They haven't noticed her, partially obscured by some cupboards, and so Alex stays put while Bruce shows Chloe to the elevator.

Bruce is wearing a mildly amused expression, one she has come to recognise that he uses when in polite society and has to hold back his sarcasm. Chloe is oblivious. As they pass into range, she overhears some of their conversation.

"Bruce, honey, I'm only saying this for your own good. Your friends are my friends, and my friends are your friends; we _know_ these things," Chloe states authoritatively. "Ulterior motives. Girls like her are golddiggers, clear and simple. That's why we stick to our own."

Alex quirks a brow. _Inbred much? That would explain a lot._

Calmly, Bruce detaches Chloe's hand from his arm and feigns a smile. "Thank you for concerning yourself with my fortune; I'll keep that in mind."

"I'm serious. It happened to my father with his second wife, didn't you know? You can never be too careful."

Alex doesn't hear the rest as the two move off to the elevator lobby and Bruce all but shoves the woman into the first available carriage. In some respects, this has adjusted her perception of Lockhart-Graham; she seems to mean well... in a misguided way.

Walking back to his office, Bruce spots Alex as she steps out from behind the cupboards and meets him halfway.

"Sorry I'm late," she leans in to give him a light peck on the corner of his mouth.

"It's OK. Meeting ran late too." He replies offhandedly. "Though, apparently not late enough," he tosses a final glance behind him. "Strange girl. I think she was under the impression she was doing me a favour by trying to scare you off," he shakes his head with a smile.

"How considerate of her. Without her guidance, you could be bankrupt in a matter of days."

"Indeed. She wasn't very pleased to know I got you a present."

Alex's mind replays the night at the museum. "Those shoes? Yeah, I can see how it doesn't exactly help my case." She's all too aware how she must look from an outside perspective: thriving on gifts and pampering and the high life, at the expense of Mr Wayne's platinum card. "Bruce, you know I don't need you buying me things."

"Too late." Bruce smirks and pushes open the door to his office for her to enter. "And I wasn't referring to the shoes."

Utterly confounded, she stares up at him but he only jerks his head for her to go inside. She does so, but nothing has changed about the room. The bookcase is still where it should be, there's no new furniture, the desk hasn't moved, nothing has been added to the walls...

But there is something on the desk. A small white box, adorned with a silver ribbon.

Her eyes are pinned to the unassuming object, a hundred thoughts and possibilities flying through her brain. Small boxes were often the most loaded, and all of a sudden she doesn't know what to do.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Bruce asks, leaning against the wall.

She looks at him. His demeanour is so calm, as though he'd just asked her about the weather. Why, then, was _she_ nervous? "What's in it?" Her voice comes out small and uncertain.

"If I told you, that'd defeat the point of putting it in a box, wouldn't it?"

She slowly lets out a breath. _It's not a big deal, just open it_. Picking up the light box, she closes her fingers around the lid and eases it off. Her jaw drops.

Alex stares wide-eyed at the glinting metal inside, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. "You _didn't_..."

"I did. Audi R8. One for you, one for me."

_An Audi R8_. He bought her a _sports car_. Here she was, preparing herself for the extravagance of jewellery... and he'd given her a $250,000 car. She turns to him, still overwhelmed and lost for words. "How did you...?"

"You think I haven't noticed you lusting after this car whenever we pass one on the street?" He grins. "Besides, I could use a new addition to the garage myself, so I ordered a pair."

"Bruce," she struggles to find her voice again, flustering, "you shouldn't have; this is far too much for me to accept." She could practically buy her apartment with that much money.

"Because of the price tag? Alex," he straightens up off the wall and walks to her, "money doesn't matter to me." He takes out of the box the car keys she still hasn't touched and places them in her palm, folding her fingers over them. "It's yours because I want you to have it. I know it makes you happy. That's all that matters."

He holds her gaze and she instantly gets lost in the stormy blue of his eyes. She doesn't know what they see in her, but they're full of warmth and sincerity. Choking on words she can't express, Alex throws her arms around him, the car keys clutched tightly in one hand. He has given her so much, and not just by way of worldly possessions. She can't help but feel indebted.

Somehow, he reads her mind. "You'll never owe me anything. I want you to remember that."

"I know," she says, a muffled sound against his chest. "But it's not the car that makes me happy. You do."

"So you're saying the car does nothing for you?" His voice is mock-offended, even as he smiles broadly, happier than she's seen him in a while. He spins her around in his arms, facing her to the door, then speaks lowly next to her ear. "Let's go for a drive and see."

--+--

On the sixth day of staking out Gotham Museum, pay off finally arrives in the form of a man-sized shadow scaling the exterior wall just after midnight. Under cover of heavy clouds, the man deftly climbs a section of wall that is angled away from surveillance units: a blind spot. If not for the sonar visors, Bruce wouldn't have seen him either. The burglar mounts the roof and makes for the skylight.

Batman moves.

He leaps off the edge of his building; silent, soaring through air with his cape flung open behind him. His feet touch down with barely a noise on the other end of the roof, just in time for him to see the top of the thief's head disappear down the skylight.

Bruce follows. A pane of glass had been prised out of its frame to make a hole. He sees that the intruder has left his rope still hanging -- perhaps he meant to escape through the same route. Having no need for rope, Batman cuts it off and then jumps into the museum.

He finds himself in the main hall, not far from the new wing. It's dead quiet, the thief proving to be just as stealthy as he is, and a quick scan of the room informs Bruce that the man has moved on elsewhere. Bruce quickly sets out towards the new hall named in his honour. In the older parts of the building, he is not surprised to find the motion detectors and other tripwires deactivated. And then, he comes to the Treasure of the Tsars exhibition.

In the centre of the room, the primary display case houses the Tsar crown: a beautifully crafted piece of regalia encrusted with diamonds, rubies and tourmalines. Tonight, the dark figure of the thief crouches precariously on top of it, his feet balanced on the diagonal corners of the glass box. Through a cut circle in the glass, he is in the process of pinching the crown, ever so carefully to not trigger the pressure plate, when Batman comes at him.

He is fast. In the blink of an eye, he dodges Batman's lunge, jumping off the box with crown in hand. The alarm goes off. Again, the thief has hacked the lockdown gates which remain open while he flees and Bruce gives chase. He makes his mistake in rounding back to the skylight room, faltering in mid-run at the sight of his rope in a pile on the ground. Bruce manages to land a blow on him but aside from stumbling a little, the other man keeps going for a different exit.

He is an incredibly agile thief, not a type Bruce usually encounters. At every turn, he finds himself half a step further behind, more weighted down by the suit and equipment as the burglar sprints ahead. He is about to get away.

Then he sees it. Always keeping an eye open for opportunities, he notes that they are coming under a large chandelier. Without regard to damage, he has already thrown up a batarang and severed the support cable. The heavy mass of metal and crystal creaks for an instant before it comes hurtling down onto the criminal's back, smashing to pieces on impact.

Bruce slows as he nears the fallen man, who has been caught under the outer rim of the chandelier frame. With his limbs splayed as he lies face down, his loot has escaped his grip and clattered a few feet away to rest at a skewed angle. He puts up no resistance as Batman drags him from the wreckage, sits him against the wall, and restrains his hands and feet. Outside, the patter of footsteps signal that the police have only just arrived.

Bruce looks down at his captive. The man is covered with cuts and is panting heavily, possibly with broken bones, but otherwise displays no permanent injury. His face is hidden behind a black ski mask but Bruce has no difficulty seeing his vicious glare. A glare from a familiar set of ice blue eyes.

He tears off the mask. It's Darwin.

* * *

A/N: Dun-dun-DUN! Well, that probably wasn't much of a surprise if you've already guessed it (I'm looking at you, MG). I had planned out this whole infrared-beam-gymnastics thing with the museum break in, until I did some research and found out it doesn't actually work (Hollywood lying to us? _No way_...) and so my inner realist couldn't handle that, and I had to change the idea.

I also had this toss-up between giving Alex an Audi R8 or a Lancer Evolution, and decided the Evolution probably was a bit too out-of-character. For both of them. (I'd choose it, though.) And that's it for the irrelevant info! Thanks for reading! It's been almost a year since I started this story, I can hardly believe it. Not many more chapters to go.


	19. Chapter 19

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: May contain traces of references to other movies. But there will be _no crossovers_.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 19

Next to Gordon, Batman stands by and watches the police load Darwin into the back of an SUV headed for the precinct. He doesn't typically hang around after police have come onto the scene, but tonight he feels compelled to stay.

"Smooth work, as usual," Gordon acknowledges. "And with any luck, the museum won't send us a bill for the chandelier, on account of not having their prized exhibit stolen."

Bruce makes a mental note to have a cheque issued from the Wayne Trust Fund for the damage and conveniently use the same reasoning. _How wonderful, the Tsar crown wasn't stolen from Wayne Hall in spite of our botched security systems, so here's a little something in goodwill to cover the costs_. It'd be good for his philanthropist angle. And it wasn't every day he got an excuse to pay off the property wreckage caused by Batman's nightly crusades.

"What's the perpetrator's background? Any ID yet?" He asks Gordon.

"Name's Darwin Somerset. Has a brief larceny record from eight, nine years ago. He's suspected of a number of museum robberies over the past few months in other states, so things may get a little interesting for the DA." He gives Batman a sideways glance. "Why the interest? You know him?"

"I know someone who does," he replies evasively. Gordon doesn't need the details, not yet anyway. He can't predict if Darwin will somehow drag Alex into this mess or not.

Detective Bullock, a dark, scowling, heavy-set policeman with a penchant for chewing toothpicks, approaches them and jerks his thumb at the SUV. "We're ready to go, Lieutenant." He makes no effort to hide his distaste for the Bat, shooting off a dirty look at the masked vigilante.

"Alright, Bullock. I'll be there in a minute." Gordon turns back to Batman. "So far, it looks like Somerset works alone. We think he may have had some help tampering with computer systems, though. Would your friend know anything about that?"

"No. My friend doesn't know much about him at all."

Seeing that he isn't going to get any more information out of Batman, Gordon shrugs and casts his eye back to the crime scene. "We'll get a warrant to inspect his home in the morning. Assuming, that is, he doesn't have higher connections to hamper..."

Bruce takes a silent step back and is already gone while Gordon ruminates in mid-sentence. He sprints down to a back alley where the Tumbler is parked, but once inside, he's struck with indecision. It's nearly two in the morning and he doesn't want to wake Alex up with bad news, however, he's willing to bet Darwin will try to contact her once at the police station.

He pulls out the comlink from his batsuit and calls home.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred picks up after four rings, his voice rough from sleep.

"Alfred. Sorry to wake you," he says.

"Oh, not at all, sir. Been _vividly_ awake, dancing with the maids."

Bruce smiles at his sarcasm. He hears a mixture of relief and annoyance in Alfred's tone at finding out that there isn't an emergency. "I need your help with the police intranet."

There's a dubious pause on the other end. "I'm not a hacker, Master Wayne."

"I know, I just need you to send me the code we use on the main system. I'll sort out the rest." He guns the ignition and sets off on a course for the GCPD.

"So this is all you call me for? At two in the bloody morning?" Alfred yawns.

"I guess I could also tell you that Darwin's the museum thief. He's been caught."

"Who?"

"Darwin. You know, the guy who's always following Alex around."

"Oh, is that so? Very intriguing, sir. Does she know?"

"Not yet."

"Well. I'll go dig up that code, then. I hope you're aware what a nuisance this is, sir, having to go down to the Batcave at this hour." His voice fades out momentarily as the sound of rustling fabric cuts in. "I'll message you shortly. Don't get arrested."

Bruce grins. "Thanks, Alfred. I appreciate it." He disconnects the line. A few minutes later, Alfred's transmission comes through.

A row of police cars parked outside the station with their sirens still flashing gives him a good indication that Gordon and his culprit have arrived. He doesn't join them. Instead, he shoots his grappling hook upward to get onto the roof.

He's been up here enough times to know it's mostly deserted; every now and again a patrol will pass over the area, but there's not much of interest on the rooftop except for the bat signal... and a circuit box.

He pries open the cover and assesses the underlying network of wires and cables with a hard eye. He used to meddle with electronics during his time among the criminal underworld in Asia, and though they weren't as complex as the board before him, they weren't all that different.

From his utility belt, he takes out a gadget the size of a cell phone with a large display on the front and a multitude of connecting ports on the back. It was the Universal Capture, a handy little mechanism according to Lucius, but one that he'd never used until now.

Turning back to the circuit box, Bruce first uses the GCPD central code to override the alarm, then unplugs one of the cords for video surveillance and diverts the stream to his Universal Capture. A grainy image flickers into life on the screen, showing the police holding cells. Apart from the odd drunkard, brawler or Arkham escapee, it's mostly empty. Bruce removes the cord and tries another.

On his fourth attempt, he finds the one recording the interrogation room. An interview is well underway, with Gordon sitting opposite Darwin at the table.

"-- you protecting? We know you've got someone doing the computer work, Somerset. It's only a matter of time."

Darwin's demeanour remains unperturbed. "So take your time, Lieutenant. I ain't sweatin' it."

"We can reduce your sentence if you cooperate."

"Thanks, but I'll pass," he snorts. "I'm not a snitch."

Although Gordon's back is the only angle of him visible from the camera, Bruce can sense his exasperation. The policeman shifts his weight in the seat and crosses his arms over the desk. _A change of questioning tactics_. "That's kind of ironic coming from a thief, don't you think?"

Barely perceptible on the screen, Darwin narrows his eyes just the slightest. "What I do doesn't hurt anybody."

"Oh really? How is that?"

"I don't steal from people," he declares simply. "Just museums. Nobody's going to starve or lose their house if a couple of relics go missin'. Not even missin' permanently -- they just... change hands."

"So you're the new age John Dillinger?" Gordon's voice is heavy with scepticism.

"I'm better than Dillinger." Darwin says matter-of-factly. "Robbin' banks ain't exactly a victimless crime. 'Sides, violence is so crass."

"Why choose crime in the first place? You have a job." Gordon glances down at a sheet on the desk. "You started working for Professor Schofield at Gotham State University just two weeks ago."

Darwin smiles wryly. "There's not a lot of dough, working in academia. Why does anyone want more money, Lieutenant? Wealth defines us. Just look at Bruce Wayne -- without his riches, he's nothin'."

Several floors up under the night sky, Bruce cocks an eyebrow and finds himself feeling oddly vindicated. A little childish, but vindicated.

Back on the handheld display, Darwin lets out a sigh. "Are we done here? I'd like to make my phone call."

Gordon leaves the room for a few seconds then returns with Darwin's phone and the rest of his personal effects in a metal basket.

--+--

An incessant buzzing in her ear rouses her awake and Alex peeks her head out from beneath the covers, eyes squinting. The morning light she expected is nowhere to be seen; it's completely dark, and that's when she realises it's not an alarm going off but her phone.

She picks up the glowing, ringing, vibrating phone from the nightstand and stares at it with a look of confusion. Darwin? Three AM? _Darwin_?

She answers. "Darwin? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Alex, I'm terribly sorry, but I don't know who else to call."

"What's wrong?" She sits up in bed, switching on the lamp.

"I'm... I'm at the police station." For the first time, his voice lacks its usual confidence. He sounds reluctant to speak. "Would it be too much to ask if you could come see me?"

"I'll come right away," she replies, concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Well... yeah. Thank you, Alex. Means a lot to me."

"Don't mention it. Hang in there, Darwin, I'll be down as soon as I can."

_Holy crap_. She wonders what's happened and throws on some clothes quickly before rushing out of her apartment. The lift shoots down to the basement parking lot where she left her new car. It was a good thing her apartment block even had a lock-up car space, because she's sure if she parked it on the street overnight, it would be either gone by morning or keyed beyond recognition.

It doesn't take her long to reach the police department and Alex makes her way to the front counter, asking to see Darwin. The officer directs her to the interrogation room. _What has Darwin gotten himself into_? She can't understand why he'd be wanted by the cops.

Hurrying through corridors in search of Room 108, she takes a left past 106, only to halt at the sight of Batman in her path. Lieutenant Gordon stands beside him -- both of them have been waiting just outside the door to the interrogation room.

"Batman?" Her eyebrows draw together in confusion. At least she remembered not to call him by name. "Lieutenant Gordon?"

Gordon steps forward. "Hello, Alexandra, and thank you for coming. I understand you're probably shocked about this whole situation. Would you like a seat?" He gestures to a set of chairs behind him.

"I'm fine, thanks. Just -- could you please tell me what's going on? I'm completely in the dark."

He nods. "Of course. Your friend, Mr Somerset, has been arrested for the attempted burglary of Gotham Museum --"

Alex's jaw drops. Gordon notices, with a minor pause, but continues.

"-- and he's pleading guilty, having been caught in the act."

Her eyes flit to Bruce. It could only have been Batman who caught him, otherwise he wouldn't be here. Bruce keeps silent, staring back at her, his gaze stoic behind the cowl. When he chose to be unreadable, he truly was.

"There may or may not be further charges laid against him, once the DA's had a look at this case. We also believe he has an accomplice but he's withholding that information at the present time," Gordon goes on. "In terms of procedure, Mr Somerset is entitled to a private conversation with a person of his choosing -- that's you -- so the recording equipment has been switched off inside, and you're under no obligation to tell us anything that's said between you. If you need anything, we'll be in the next room where there's a one-way mirror. We won't hear anything, but we'll be able to see you."

He opens the door for her and Alex steps cautiously inside.

Darwin sits at a steel table in the middle of the room. He's dressed all in black -- something out of the ordinary for him -- and there are scratches all over his clothes. His hands rest clasped together on the table: the silver glint of cuffs is impossible to miss.

He looks up when she enters. "I'm sorry, Alex," he says softly. "I haven't been entirely honest with you about what I do."

_So it's true_. "You're a thief," she states bluntly, disappointedly.

"A thief of distinguished taste," he clarifies, "but yes." He gestures for her to take the seat across from him.

"You told me you were a historian."

"I am," he protests. "It's my day job. I never meant to lie to you, Alex, truly. This was only out of necessity." In spite of everything, he still sounds sincere, his eyes big and pleading.

Alex sighs. She doesn't know if she can believe him, after this bombshell, and yet some other part of her is certain that everything else she knows about him is real. "So... what now?"

"I need you to contact my brother. He'll sort everythin' out."

"Is he a lawyer?"

"No..." Darwin tips his head a little, looking askance, "but he'll know what to do."

She wonders if his brother's the accomplice Gordon was referring to, then decides she'd rather not find out. She doesn't want to keep his secrets for him. "You could have called him first," she mentions.

"He's in Texas. Family moved back there."

"Oh."

"And the other reason I called you was because I wanted to see you." His smile makes an effort at brightness, but the cut on his jaw and the bleak outlook of his situation cast a shadow over it. "You're the closest person I know in Gotham, and that's a fact. I wanted you to find out from me, not from hearing about it on the news after a hundred other people have heard about it. This way, I also get to say goodbye before..." He trails off, glancing downward.

Biting her lip, Alex reaches over the table and covers his hands with hers. "It'll be OK, Darwin. If... if you do end up going to jail, I'm sure you'll be out soon. And I'll visit."

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "That's sweet of you, but I have a feelin' I'll be behind bars for a while now." He takes a deep breath. "That's the way of the world. Take care, Alex; best of luck with you and Wayne. I only wish I were as lucky as he is." He gazes at her fondly, and it takes Alex a moment to realise he isn't just saying that in a general way.

"Darwin... you've known me for all of a _week_," she blinks in disbelief.

"Romeo and Juliet knew each other for less," he wags a finger. A playful twinkle is coming back to his eyes.

"You can't compare this to --" Alex splutters, searching for the words. He'd flirted with her and she knew he liked her, but this was absurd. "Romeo and Juliet were complete fools."

"Touche." He shrugs his shoulders and leans back in the chair. "If things don't pan out, feel free to give me a call." His custom smile breaks out again: a little too wide and a little too loopy to be attractive but enough to make her laugh. "Which reminds me," he says, "Lester's number is in my phone if you can get it."

"Lester's your brother?"

"Yep. And he's got no manners, so tell him you're callin' for me first or he probably won't listen." His eyes wander briefly to the clock on the wall, hanging above the wide stretch of black mirror through which they were being watched. "I guess that's it. You should go; catch some shut-eye for what's left of the night."

To his surprise, Alex comes around to his side of the table and hugs him. Somewhere along the line, she's already forgiven him. "Goodbye, Darwin."

--+--

On the other side of the glass, Bruce and Gordon watch the mute scene. Bruce had gotten down from the roof the moment he saw that Darwin was calling Alex, and Gordon had been a little surprised himself when he made the Alex connection. (He was surprised further upon seeing Batman enter the station with such perfect timing.)

As far as official procedures were concerned, they were only watching the conversation to ensure that the accused wasn't escaping, but Bruce can admit to himself that he was mainly watching to see how Darwin interacted with Alex. What he sees gives him mixed thoughts.

He's primarily relieved that Darwin isn't using Alex but treats her as a genuine friend. That much is evident. But he can also now see that Darwin is naturally open in his personality, whereas Bruce is a man who hides himself well. For all his popularity and charisma as Bruce Wayne, this is something he cannot emulate.

With his face still directed to the glass, Gordon remarks out of the blue, "I always thought you and Alex had something going on, that night on the roof."

Batman looks at him sharply.

Gordon continues. "Must be tough seeing her end up with that Bruce Wayne, huh?"

He has no idea if Gordon is being serious or facetious, so he settles on remaining silent. Some days, he would swear Gordon had figured him out, but on other days the policeman would prove him wrong. Gordon catches on quick to his companion's stony visage and doesn't broach the subject again.

Alex eventually comes out. She fills a couple of forms to access Darwin's cell phone and in the meantime, Gordon informs Batman that Darwin is to be transferred to County where he will remain in custody.

"As long as he's no Houdini, their facilities should be enough to hold him."

Bruce nods, with a warning. "You should find his accomplice, and fast. If they're able shut down security, you _will_ have a Houdini on your hands." He sees Alex glance at him further down the hall before she turns and starts leaving. His cue.

Sneaking out a window, he finds her waiting outside in the deserted lot by her new car. "Alex," he begins, "I had no idea it was Darwin."

She looks up from the scrap of paper in her hands. "Hmm? Oh, I know. I don't blame you, Bruce," she reaches up and cups his jaw lightly. "Darwin took his chances. It's all taking a while to sink in, though."

He looks at the paper. "What is it?"

"His brother's phone number. I'll let him know what's happened in the morning." She tucks it away in her pocket as she stifles a yawn. "Going home?"

"Going home."

* * *

A/N: I know, this took forever! Really sorry to those of you who had to wait so long, but I hope this sort of bulky chapter makes up for it. Thank you for reading and keeping up with the story!

A/N No.2: I'm sure electronics don't work like that, at least not so simplistically. There is no such thing as a Universal Capture gadget as far as I'm aware. And please also take my depiction of police procedures with a grain of salt. I try to do the research and keep the realism but I give no guarantees.


	20. Chapter 20

_Batman (Nolan-verse)_ fanfiction.  
Summary: Crime is universal. Alex leaves one hellhole for another and hopes that a change of address is enough to hold them off. No particular timeframe but closer to BB than TDK. (Batman/OFC)  
A/N: Wow, I am so sorry. Words cannot adequately convey how sorry I am for taking so long with this, and unfortunately I have to admit I lost my muse in addition to succumbing to the busy demands of real life. However, I really wanted to get this out and didn't want to let you guys down with an unfinished story. So here it is, and this is the final chapter.

**GHOST TOWN**

Chapter 20

In hindsight, it was really something he should have expected.

Alex contacted Darwin's brother on the Sunday. By Tuesday, Darwin was missing.

Bruce made a genuine attempt to track the escapee, getting as far as pinpointing the Greyhound bus out of Gotham that had taken Darwin to Pennsylvania at the very least, but the trail quickly cooled after that. Moreover, as much as he disliked admitting it, a part of him simply wasn't that keen on pursuing, for Alex's sake. She never mentioned it, of course, never once asked him _not_ to do his job, but he could sense that if the preference were available, she'd rather not see Darwin behind bars. No doubt Darwin was also being extra careful to avoid another round with Batman; consequently, he still remained at large.

Two weeks later, news coverage of the jail break has dropped to a minimum. Wanted posters still dot the streets on the occasional telegraph pole, and miscellaneous short articles about Gotham Museum serve as filler in newsprint, but for the most part, Darwin Somerset has moved on in the public psyche as fresher scandals take his place. The latest report on corruption in the DA's office blares loudly from one of the television sets in the Batcave, running like white noise to him while he studies a sewer diagram for the Narrows district. He has his back to the screen. He doesn't watch Harvey Dent announce to the press his resolve to find the mob informant. He doesn't watch Commissioner Loeb make a statement as to doubling police efforts in the crackdown on Maroni and his men. He doesn't have to. _Same old routine_.

He also doesn't see the slow-moving shadow that passes down the roughly hewn stairs behind him inside the cave. But he hears it.

It's Alex. He'd recognise the sound of her steps anywhere.

"Hey," she says softly from about a foot away.

He turns around. She's dressed in a casual sweater and jeans, her fingers picking idly at the hem of her sleeve. "Is everything OK?" He doesn't like the nervousness in her eyes, isn't even sure why it's there.

"Yeah, everything's fine," she nods but the way she's looking at him doesn't change. She takes a deep breath and he waits for her to continue; her next words come out in a rush. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

The question takes him aback and he can only stare at her with wide-eyed confusion. Where did she get the idea that he was mad at her? "What?"

Alex's expression somehow gets more skittish and she starts wringing her hands in the face of his scrutiny. "Well, I just thought... I kind of thought that -- with the way the whole Darwin thing turned out, you might..." She throws her hands to her side helplessly. "I thought you might feel like I _compromise_ you, or something."

He finally gets it. "No," he shakes his head in an attempt at reassurance and cups his palm against her cheek. "I'm sorry if I've been distant." He feels her lean into his touch, looking up at him with hope and uncertainty swimming in her eyes. "I don't feel that way," he clarifies. "It _is_ something I'm aware of... I know he was your friend, but I didn't purposely let him go. And if I had been able to -- if it came down to it -- I would have caught him and handed him back to the police." He drops his hand and half-turns back to the maps on the table. "Still, it did cross my mind."

"Letting him get away?"

"Not exactly. Just the thought -- that maybe, you wouldn't have wanted me to catch him." He glances at her. Her mouth opens in protest but he continues before she can get a word in. "I know, it's OK, I know you're a fair person and you would have wanted him to face up to his crimes. That's our rational side," he smiles wanly. "But deep down, there are these ties. We all have them. Conflicts of interest, you know."

Alex swallows. Maybe he was right. _Deep down, she wouldn't have wanted Darwin caught_.

He spreads his hands and lifts his voice a little to change the mood. "So, I've just been busy lately with a suspected kidnapping scheme that's --"

"Bruce," she interrupts him quietly, "am I a conflict of interest?"

He can't answer for a moment, even as the answer already comes to him.

"I don't mean I'll be joining the mob or anything," she goes on, "but if, for whatever reason, the situation arises..."

"Yes. You would be a conflict of interest." He sits down on the edge of the table and gathers her hands into his own. He looks up at her earnestly. "And I'd choose you. Even at the expense of a greater cause -- it's a risk I'm willing to accept. A man isn't an island. I know I work alone for the most part, but there will always be people I'd do anything for. I'd do the same for Alfred. Rachel. Lucius."

Alex nods again, dropping her eyes. Relief, perhaps? Happiness? Gratitude? He can't tell.

"I'm not terribly useful to you," she grins without much humour.

"You keep me sane," he replies firmly. "It's a commendable feat. And," he continues gently, "I'm happiest when I'm with you."

Her face brightens notably. The tiny downturn of her eyes freshens out and the curve of her smile lifts wider. He's surprised by how much it affects him.

"So am I. With you." She leans forward and kisses him chastely on the lips. "Bruce," she starts off hesitantly, "this probably isn't the best timing but..."

He quirks an eyebrow.

"I was kind of thinking of resigning."

He stares at her. It's possibly the last thing he expected to hear and takes almost a full minute for him to process. "Sick of me already?" His tone is kept light, in jest, but fails to keep down a shadow of self-doubt.

"No, silly. I meant I want to take up teaching again. I miss it. You know, having a pack of brats to rule over and discipline with an iron fist," she smiles wryly. "I'm not going to be a secretary forever."

"I guess not." He acknowledges that this is an outcome he'd contemplated, though one he'd never really delved into. Of course, she wouldn't want to be stuck in a secretarial position when it wasn't the career path she'd chosen. It wasn't personal, not really. It's ridiculous for him to feel as though she's leaving.

"It's not like I'm leaving."

_That's right_. It suddenly dawns on him in a burst of energy. "Then stay. Here, at the Manor."

"You mean...?"

"Yes. It's the least you can do, if I'm not going to see you at the office anymore," he cajoles. He's gotten used to seeing her every day that he doesn't want it to come to an end. He realises he has an even stronger desire to see her on his pillow every morning. Curled up with a book by his fireplace. Taking strolls in his garden. It's a vision he can't let go. "Come on, you're not _that_ attached to your apartment, are you?"

"No, I mean, it's just... I wouldn't be imposing at all?"

He can scarcely believe she still sounds so uncertain. "Imposing? Alex, please. I _want_ you to impose. Alfred would love the extra company in the house."

Alex laughs, and in that moment, anything Bruce had been doing earlier is forgotten completely as he's captivated by the sound. "Sounds great, then." She wraps her arms around him in a hug, laying her head on his shoulder. "I love you, Bruce."

It's whispered out, barely audible, and he thinks for a second he imagined it. But it lingers in his ear the way phantom words never can, and a lump rises in his throat.

She glances up at him, hopeful and scared at the same time. He smiles back.

"I love you, Alex."

He knows what it is now.

**THE END**

* * *

Massive A/N: That's all folks and thank you for reading! I apologise if this chapter isn't up to the same standards as my other chapters, but I hope it brings closure (to you, as well as me).

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Batman belongs to DC Comics/Warner Brothers and was created by Bob Kane and Bill Finger. _Batman Begins_ and _The Dark Knight_ were born of the creative minds of Christopher Nolan and Co.

_Characters_ -- you'll know the ones from the movie-verse.

Originals: Alex Reilly, Evelyn Van Patten, Robert & Antonio Yakavetta, Bianca Middleton, Natalya Milicevic, Chloe Lockhart-Graham, Darwin Somerset.

_Plot_ -- Alex's background incorporates aspects of _The Boondock Saints_. The Yakavetta mafia belongs to that world but I've spawned Robert & Antonio for the purposes of this story. The Saints have also been borrowed for their history.

Below is the list of **references** featured in this story. I have actually been dropping them quite liberally in parts, but some are obscure.

1. Evelyn / Van Patten - American Psycho  
2. [ch1] "I have a lunch meeting [with Cliff Huxtable] at the Four Seasons in twenty minutes" - American Psycho  
3. [ch2] Stark Industries - Iron Man  
4. [ch2] Valentino suits - American Psycho  
5. Yakavetta / The Saints - The Boondock Saints  
6. [ch3/4] West 81st Street / 11th floor - American Psycho  
7. [ch4] Dorsia / squid ravioli - American Psycho  
8. [ch6] "protected from up on high by the prince of darkness" / Kint - The Usual Suspects  
9. [ch7] Caldlow - The Prestige  
10. [ch7] "[I'm] sorry for a lot of things" - The Prestige  
11. [ch8] "There's no coke!" - The Usual Suspects  
12. [ch9] Pierce & Pierce - American Psycho  
13. [ch9] "[Jean,] would you like to accompany me to dinner? That is, if you're not doing anything" - American Psycho  
14. [ch9] Barcadia / red snapper - American Psycho  
15. [ch9] "what's wrong with that? It's totally disease-free" - American Psycho  
16. [ch13] Detective Greenly - The Boondock Saints  
17. [ch13] "there is an idea of a [Patrick Bateman]" - American Psycho  
18. [ch16] Phil Collins - American Psycho  
19. [ch16] "well, actually, that's none of your business" - American Psycho  
20. [ch16] "that's fabulous, that's rich" - American Psycho  
21. [ch16] "beehive of activity" - American Psycho  
22. [ch18] Pastels / best pizza according to Donald Trump - American Psycho (book)  
23. [ch18] "ruined [my] girlish figure in one fell swoop" - The Boondock Saints (deleted scene)  
24. [ch18] "your friends are my friends, and my friends are your friends" - American Psycho  
24. [ch19] "that's the way of the world" - Smokin' Aces

Yeah, there's definitely an excessive amount of _American Psycho_ in there. What can I say, it's such a quotable movie/book! A personal favourite.

**Author's Blueprints:  
(AKA my intentions for this story)**

This was, ultimately, a story about Batman getting the girl. Not Bruce Wayne, charming though he is, but the Bat. I'm following from the notion that Batman is a truer reflection of his character (as expressed by Rachel at the end of Batman Begins where she says "Bruce Wayne" is his mask) and therefore, found it more fitting for the romance to flow from this route -- girl comes to fall in love with who he is as the Dark Knight, while rebuffing the public persona of Bruce Wayne (at the start, anyway).

**Thank you readers!**

I wouldn't have had the motivation to finish this without you guys. Thank you all for the kind and supportive words; your reviews are very much treasured.


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